Oceanus: The First Frontier
by Traycon 3 and Fishey Me
Summary: You could feel the wind at your back in those days. The sounds of the sea beneath you.. it's still the same. The ship is yours. You can feel her. And the stars are still there, Bones. -The Ultimate Computer. Pirate!AU. Warning! Slash ahoy! Updated 1.18.10
1. The Man Trap

Oceanus, The First Frontier

Summary: You could feel the wind at your back in those days. The sounds of the sea... beneath you, and even if you take away the wind and the water... it's still the same. The ship is yours. You can feel her. And the stars are still there, Bones (AU, Earth, circa 1740, liberally infused with what I call "nautical mythology".)

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or any of the mythic animals, locations, or themes included in this story. Star Trek is the property of Paramount and I think nautical mythology is public domain or something. What do I own? Words. Only words on a page. Give credit where it's due.

Pairings: S/Mc, K/R (implied), Sc/U (implied), Ch/S (implied), and other m/f, including later Spock/f and McCoy/f.

Rating: T (May go to M later.)

Archiving Information: Please, don't post my stuff anywhere without my permission. Overarching permission goes to the S/Mc Haven and BLTS. All others must ask.

((_Author's Note_: Quit looking at me like that! This isn't connected to Pirates of the Caribbean. So what if they're pirates and the waters they sail are enchanted? It's not the same universe, there are none of the same characters, and I'll not have my words questioned, not from the likes of you! Arr!

Ahem, as some historical background, this story takes place shortly after Georgia was founded as a colony, in about 1740 CE. Now, any student of Wikipedia knows that's well after the Golden Age of Piracy, but I've found a well cited website titled "Pirates of the Caribbean, In Fact and Fiction" which proposes that the Golden Age lasted until 1790, or even 1800. The site has also given me information on piratical mythology, medicine (which interestingly, involves the invention of the "Sickbay" about when this story takes place), and culture. Anyone who wants the link, shoot me a private message or ask in your review. I am an English major, not a history major, so if someone has better information on the nautical terminology or historical events (like wars, obviously not like Romulans sinking made up ships,) please tell me.))

Chapter 1: The Man Trap

Retrospect would note the irony in how the worst day of Leonard McCoy's life seemed so perfect at first. The breeze was blowing from the sea, carrying the sweet salt scent across the island, rustling the reeds and leaves in the trees. He stood on his porch looking out over the expanse of blue, surveying the tiny outlines of the ships heading to or from the new port city, Savannah. He felt a light hand rest upon his shoulder. Leonard turned and smiled.

His daughter stood behind him, smiling back. "Such a lovely day, isn't it, Father?"

"It certainly is. It's just a shame that you won't be able to enjoy as many of them here."

"Oh, you! You make it sound as though I'm never coming back!"

"All those young lads in Savannah will be fallin' all over themselves to ask you to dance. I may very well not see you again! I hope you appreciate all I've done for you." He kidded. Joanna laughed.

"Oh, yes, I do. Perhaps not as much as the headmaster, as it was his gas you remedied to get me into the school."

"Well, if you'd smelled his gas, you really would appreciate it more."

Joanna laughed and tossed her red curls over her shoulder. "Father! Don't be so provincial!"

Leonard smiled and looked back out to sea. "I'll send you letters all the time, my dear."

"And I will you, father."

For a long moment the two of them just stood in silence, listening to the wind whisper promises for the future across the expansive sea.

"You know, father, I always thought you'd enjoy sailing for a little while. You love watching the ships go into port, and since I'll be in Savannah you might need a distraction of some sort. Missy can keep the house in order for a few weeks."

"Oh, I have no doubt that Missy can keep the house in order for the rest of her days! I probably have a permanent welt on my skull where she thumps me for tracking sand or dirt onto the floor," Leonard muttered with a wry chuckle as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Well, it's your own fault. If you'd wipe your feet before you came inside, you wouldn't make Missy so mad."

"It's my own house! I should be able to track dirt where I please. I'm no child."

Joanna just smiled and rest her head on her father's shoulder. "I'm going to miss you and Missy arguing in the den."

"No you won't. You'll get to Savannah and stand in the bustling streets wondering if that's what silence sounds like."

Joanna rolled her eyes. "Silence is what it sounds like when you go visit patients. You know it's you who makes more noise than me and Missy put together."

Leonard laughed. "You really think I should go sailing? Is that nice young man Simon's ship coming into port soon? The _Blue Moon_?"

Joanna blushed and put a hand to her mouth. "I wouldn't know, father."

Leonard gently pat his daughter's hand. "Oh, you would know. You make a point of knowing when that ship comes by. And don't think I didn't notice that sailor stopping by more and more often to bring me books and fruit. I doubt that it's my old face he's coming here to see."

Joanna buried her face into Leonard's shoulder with embarrassment. "Stop it, father! Simon's a nice boy; you shouldn't tease him like that."

Leonard shook his head. "Silly girl, I'm not teasing him; I'm teasing you. Look there, I bet that's his ship approaching now!" He pointed at a ship that was sailing close to the island.

Joanna looked up at the ship. "That's not the _Blue Moon_. That looks like an old Naval vessel."

Leonard squinted at the outline. "Is it? I suppose you're right. Well, I'll be. Why do you think it's detouring here? Savannah's only another few hours along the coast."

"I don't know. Can you make out her colors?"

"No. I don't think she's flying any…" Leonard put his hand to his forehead to shield his eyes and squinted. Joanna narrowed her eyes also against the glare of the sun.

"Can you make out her markings? She's getting closer."

"_Enterprise_? That's a new ship."

Joanna's eyes widened. "The _Enterprise_?" Her voice dropped to a whisper, "Simon once told me a story about that ship."

"I've never heard of her." Leonard replied, believing Joanna was getting worked up over nothing.

"She's crewed by the notorious James Kirk, a traitor to the Crown, a murderer, and a thief. Simon says the man killed his first mate in order to make a deal with sea-demons. Since then the _Enterprise_ has been raiding merchant ships and terrorizing navies of all the major players on the water."

Leonard was skeptical, but the ship was entirely too close to dismiss the story entirely. He squeezed his daughter's shoulder and turned her toward the door. "Go inside, get Missy, and lock yourselves in one of the inner rooms and don't come out until I say so."

He pushed her toward the house. She nodded. "Missy! Missy!" She called and hurried inside.

Leonard looked over his shoulder at the ship. At this point, the ship was dark and ominous against the clear, blue sky. It was bigger than the merchant ships he usually saw sail by, more akin to one of the British Navy's ships. He was pretty sure they called them frigates. The wood was rich and dark where it wasn't covered by bright paint and the sails were creamy white, but it was the first ship he'd seen this close since he'd sailed over from England with Joanna and Missy, and that was more than five years ago. He hadn't minded living aboard the ship, but he much preferred solid ground beneath his feet.

He rushed into the house. Inside he had a sword which his uncle had given him but never really taught him how to use. _How hard can it be?_ He thought, _the pointy end goes into the other guy. The flat end keeps the other guy from killing me._ He found the sword sitting on his mantle, covered in a fine layer of dust. He hadn't used the thing since his uncle gave it to him, but Missy kept dusting it off from time to time, suggesting he might want to take it with him when he went to the mainland. Leonard refused, believing that his Oath as a physician was more important than his purse. He was bucking the sword when he heard a rustle in the hall. He pulled the blade out and ran into the hall, his heart pounding so loud he thought it would deafen him.

"Who's there?" He hissed. He was met only with silence. He took a tentative step forward, and looked into the main room. The door to the porch was shut and didn't appear to have been forced. He sighed and turned around.

Before him stood a large group of men, all sinister in appearance. The leader was a handsome blonde man with an overlarge hat with and even more grandiose feather flopping out of it. It would look ridiculous if the man didn't have a cutlass pressed up against Leonard's throat. Immediately behind him stood a half-naked Orient with a mad glint in his eyes and a more modestly garbed statuesque man who appeared either to be of Spanish or Jewish origin. Still more men stood behind them, each grinning with malice.

"Tell me, good sir," the leader drawled, "are you the master of this house?"

--

((Author's Note: SO, apparently I left my rough draft for A'Nirih at my parents' house. I figured if my muse was going to bug me, I might as well start working on this. Unlike A'Nirih, this is a work in progress, so DON'T expect it to get updated at the same time or with the same frequency as A'Nirih. The S'Brin universe and the Pirate AU have no bearing on one another.))


	2. Balance of Terror

Oceanus: The First Frontier

Disclaimer: The ocean holds sway over the legends, themes, and myths this story plays with. Paramount owns the characters. I just claim this story as my own.

Pairings: S/Mc, K/R (implied), Sc/U (implied), Ch/S (implied), and other m/f, including later Spock/f and McCoy/f.

Rating: T. May go to M later.

Review Replies: CheetaLiv: Aww, thanks! I hope this can be held to the same standard. AllyP: Woo-hoo! I hope you enjoy this chapter. The crew interacts rather a lot here. And Kirk's feather is green-blue- for anyone else who was wondering.

((Author's Note: Well, I got this chapter out in a hurry. Sue me, I'm excited about this story! I don't think I'll get very many other chapters out this fast, but here's hoping.))

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Chapter 2: Balance of Terror

Leonard bet if he could move he would have dropped his sword. Instead he simply stood, his blue eyes wide with shock. How could pirates have gotten into his home? More importantly, why had they come here?

"What do you want?" He spat out. The blonde man's crooked grin fluttered only slightly.

"My, my, good sir, is that a polite way to greet a man?"

"Doesn't sound too polite to me, Cap'n." A young red-headed man in the group stated with a warning in his tone. Leonard swallowed nervously.

"Now, Mr. Riley, I didn't ask for _your_ opinion on the matter." Kirk snapped without looking over his shoulder at the lad. "I was asking this gentleman. Once again, I ask you sir, are you the master of this house?" Leonard may not have responded had the pirate not twisted his blade so that the edge of the blade pressed coolly against his throat.

"I am." Leonard bit out. "Now will you tell me what in hell it is you want?"

The pirate with the exceptionally long feather in his hat laughed. "Why, what every pirate wants: to rape pillage and plunder, of course!" His crew all laughed, all except for the dark-eyed man beside the captain. He didn't even smile. "But, I think we would be satisfied with your name to start with."

"My name?"

"Captain," the dark-eyed man muttered. The blonde man's eyes flicked over to the man, communicating something without cumbersome words. The dark-eyed man sighed, but voiced no further protest.

"Mr. Spock is quite right. How terribly uncivil of me. I am Captain James T. Kirk of the _SS Enterprise_. Now, may I beg your acquaintance?"

Every one of the pirates fixed their eyes upon Leonard. "McCoy. Leonard McCoy."

Kirk grinned roguishly. "A pleasure, I'm sure."

"Please, just tell me what you want. I don't have any money, I'm no merchant…"

"Well, I suspect you have more than we humble pirates do."

"Not much… and certainly nothing that you could carry aboard your vessel."

"Well, Cap'n, I wouldna say that!" A man with a thick Scottish brogue called from down a side hall. Leonard could hear Missy scream. A moment later a large, dark-haired man came marching out, Missy and Joanna in tow. His large hand easily surrounded the whole of Joanna's arm, and while Missy's arm was far too broad for the Scotsman to encompass, his strength more than compensated for the difference. "The gent's right, that he hasna got much more than a few trinkets about, but we could always carry these bonnie lasses with us!"

Most of the pirates sniggered and a few of them cat-called. Leonard's eyes threatened to bulge out of their sockets and his face had turned dangerously red. "Treacherous blackguards!" He roared, "Unhand them this instant!" He tried to lunge at the Scot but Kirk cleared his throat and flicked his sword, not enough to scratch Leonard's throat, but still enough to remind him of the situation.

"Make us a better offer, Mister McCoy."

"But, but, I don't have anything!" Leonard swallowed. "Damn it, let them go!"

Kirk coughed out a harsh laugh. "And why should I do that? It's been a long time since a good many of my men have had any rest on a lovely… beach, and even longer with any company."

"I'd bet Chekov's never had a lady's company at all!" Riley laughed. Some other pirates joined him. A younger lad elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"Shows vot you know, Riley." Leonard had never heard such an accent before. The other pirates roared with laughter.

"Quiet!" Kirk snapped at the two lads. Both of them straitened up as though at military attention in response. It didn't seem to be a mocking gesture. "Scotty, take them-"

"No, please sir, show some mercy!" Missy begged, pulling herself down to her knees. Scotty moved his hand to her shoulder for better stability. Joanna tried to take advantage of the situation and wrest away from the big man's grasp, but to no avail, then glared defiantly at Kirk. Kirk merely smirked at the gesture.

McCoy swallowed bitterly. "Please, let my daughter and my housemaid go. I'll do anything."

"There's more on the ship who'd want those two than who'll want you, old man," the Orient chuckled.

"Sulu's right, sirrah. Maybe if you had a strong back or a good sword I'd bring you into my crew, but I doubt you'd serve well under my command. You aren't a merchant. Are you a lawyer?"

"Neither, sir. I am not a rich man."

"What then are you, a farmer? A fisher?"

"No, sir. Please, let these women-"

"What is your trade, man?" Kirk barked.

"I'm a physician, damn you! What difference does it make? I still have nothing," but the moment he said 'physician' the whole band froze and began to whisper amongst themselves. Kirk seized Leonard by the shoulders.

"A physician! You heal the sick or injured?"

"Yes… But why do you…?" Leonard trailed off as Kirk let him go.

"Bring him! Leave the women. Take what you can of food and riches."

The crew grumbled. One of them, a young man – hardly more than a boy – stepped forward. "Leave the vomen, Keptin?" Leonard recognized him as Chekov.

"Are you questioning my orders, Mr. Chekov? Do it!"

"Aye, sair!" The boy muttered, embarrassed at the upbraiding. The dark-eyed man who Leonard decided had to be a Jew grabbed Leonard by the arm and pulled him from the house.

"Father, no!" Leonard could hear Joanna cry out, but he could not escape the other man's grip nor did his struggling even slow down the man's pace.

"I can walk, you son of a bitch! Let me go!"

"When we get to the ship, perhaps I shall."

Leonard kept tripping as the other man pulled him faster across the sand than Leonard could manage. "Damn it!"

"Your swearing is not helping your situation, Doctor."

"Go to Hell." Leonard grumbled.

"After you, sir." It took Leonard a moment to realize that the quiet man was ordering him into a row-boat, not replying to Leonard's curse. Leonard nearly fell into the boat as the Jew shoved him forward, and the man took a great step into the boat himself, managing somehow to avoid getting even a drop of the breaking waves on his pristine boots. He turned and looked back toward Leonard's house. "Mr. Chekov! Mr. Riley!" He called out. The oddly-accented boy and the red-head ran over, each carrying some boxes which Leonard recognized as his medical supplies.

"Sir?" Riley asked.

"Are we not to return to the ship sometime this afternoon?" The man asked so seriously that Leonard would not have guessed it was sarcasm had he not already heard Kirk's order.

"Sorry, Meestair Spock." Chekov muttered, kicking Riley's shin lightly. Riley balanced the boxes he was holding on Chekov's pile and the young man tried to climb in awkwardly. Fearing that the boy would shatter his vials of his precious medicines, Leonard lunged forward to catch the boxes. Spock grabbed him by the back of his jacket and forced him back to his seat, but he took some of the boxes from Chekov and set them beside Leonard. Chekov sat and settled the boxes and lifted up an oar. Riley shoved the boat into the deeper water, then jumped in, rocking the boat lightly. Spock narrowed his eyes at the brash young man, but said nothing. Riley also grabbed an oar and then he and Chekov began to row the boat toward the Enterprise.

Leonard looked down, quietly seething over having been kidnapped. After a time he looked at Chekov. "The women: my daughter and Missy... Y'all left them alone, right?" His voice was weak.

The boy shrugged but didn't slow in his rowing. "Ze keptin ordaired us to. Ve vill not disobey his ordairs."

Len sighed with relief.

They got to the ship. From the sea the ship had looked larger and more menacing than from the coast, but right next to the weathered hull the ship seemed to suffocate Leonard with a sense of dread. Chekov and Riley began hitching the boat to ropes and pulleys and then heaved the boat aboard. Leonard was horrified at the sight before him.

Men lay groaning on the filthy deck, covered with bruises and open sores. A number of them were too thin, most had purple looking gums and pale complexions. Some were unconscious, but most were fully awake to feel every ache in their tired bodies.

"My god…" Leonard breathed as he stepped onto the deck. "Scurvy."

* * *

((Author's Note 2: You may or may not have noticed that my chapters are named after episodes. This is merely for my amusement, and does not indicate chronology, theme, or major plot devises. They're just pretty words that fit as titles.))


	3. Errand of Mercy

Chapter 3: Errand of Mercy

Disclaimer: I'm remarkably poor. By the stars, why would I make my financial problems worse by getting involved with a lawsuit with Paramount? I don't own Star Trek, or any related characters. And while the ocean can't sue me, I'd be daft to take on that awesome force… I don't own nautical mythology either.

Pairings: S/Mc, K/R (implied), Sc/U (implied), Ch/S (implied), and other m/f, including later Spock/f and McCoy/f.

Rating: T, may go to M later.

Review Replies: _Ai Maclean_- I'm not a fan of predestination scenarios. You know, when so-and-so's grandpa did something, he's fated or inclined to do the same thing? Yeah, I don't like those stories. That and the earth and sea of Oceanus are nothing like the Earth of The Original Series. It's a novel thought, just not an idea I'm comfortable with pursuing. _AllyP_- You give the best reviews, you know? Character traits you like, lines you enjoy, errors when I have them… Seriously, thanks a billion! _Milwaukee Meg_ – Len is making a quick and dirty assumption about Spock. It isn't intended to be an offence to or a joke about Mr. Nimoy. It isn't even the full out description for the character, as Len was kind of distracted by the whole being attacked by pirates thing to really get a look at every one who had broken into his house. I promise this chapter, Len really will get a good look at Mr. Spock, and I'll explain the whole pointy eyebrows and everything.

((Author's Note: I had fun with this chapter. I have to give _Allergic-To-Paradox_ some serious credit here for helping me make sure my swordfight seems realistic, as she fences and I don't. Thanks much, AllyP! Oh, and it's a fairly long chapter, but a lot happens so hopefully it doesn't get tedious. :D ))

* * *

Leonard felt his fear retreat to the back of his mind – these people needed his help. "Do you have any oranges?" He asked Spock, kneeling down to inspect an unconscious, blonde, broad-shouldered man.

"Oranges?" The dark-eyed pirate asked, raising a speculative eyebrow.

"Yes, they're about the size of a fist, dark yellow or, um, orange colored…"

"I know the fruit, sir. I wished to know why you require them."

"I'd wager you folks have had maybe bread and ale for a long time, but in all likelihood no fruit or vegetables nor, by the looks of these skinny boys, any meat." Leonard shook his head. "Look, do you know the saying, 'a man cannot live off bread alone'? Well, it's true; men need fruit and vegetables or this happens," Leonard nodded at the unconscious man. "Scurvy. I don't know why, but sour fruits like oranges really ward it off. Now, do you have any?"

"Actually, we don't have any fruit left," Riley said, "but if it'll help the crew we can stop somewhere." The young Irishman nodded with conviction, "Cap'n Kirk'll see to it."

"It will help… at least, most of them."

"_Most _of them?" Spock asked, his tone voicing his disdain at the uncertainty in Leonard's.

"Yes, _most_ of them." Leonard spat, turning a harsh glare on the dark eyed pirate. "You will want to give the stuff from my home to the unconscious ones; they're pretty far gone. If you hesitate, it could kill them." Leonard looked back at the man by his knees. "They're already so far gone. If you'd like, I can try-"

"You _will_ try." Spock interjected.

"I will," Leonard affirmed, "when I have the materials to work with. He," the physician indicated Riley, "said you have ale. With it, I can clean the open sores, prevent infection. Bring me some ale and the cleanest rags or strips of cloth you can find," he ordered. Riley and Chekov hesitated, looking at Spock, uncertain of whether to proceed. Leonard scowled. "Damn it, do you mind? I don't know where to find a thing on this ship! Do you want these men to get gangrene? Get me the ale and rags!"

Spock met Chekov and Riley's gazes. "Take Dr. McCoy's potions to Dr. Piper's former cabin then fetch the materials he requires." The two young men nodded. Chekov even shifted his box to one arm and lifted his other arm as though to salute, but hastily scratched his neck instead, muttering something that sounded apologetic in a language Leonard had never heard before.

"Who was Dr. Piper?" Leonard asked quietly.

"Our former surgeon."

"Why isn't he your current surgeon?"

"He found piracy was not to his liking and left us when we last made port."

"Gee, I wonder why that would be?" Leonard asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

The pirate didn't even have the decency to look mollified. Instead, he calmly held his hands behind his back and cocked his head to the side, as though curious. "Ale?"

"I'd say it's the closest thing you have to soap and fresh water on this ship."

"Ale has cleansing properties?" Leonard found it odd that the man sounded genuinely curious.

Leonard sighed and scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. "My father always said it cures what ails you." He swallowed back a lump in his throat that his father's memory always elicited in him, "I've found that it can hinder the development of infections when applied to wounds and it numbs pain when drunk. I'd hardly call it the best solution, but it'll do."

His captor nodded skeptically "As you say."

Before Leonard could ask the man what he meant by that a call came up from the edge of the ship. Kirk and the other men were coming up. Spock and the few hands on deck who were able helped heave the boats onto the ship.

"Ye've a feisty lass, Doc," the large Scotsman from before chuckled.

"Scotty, don't be mean," Kirk chided. "You'll scare our good doctor." Then he laughed as well.

Suddenly all of Leonard's fears came rushing back to the forefront of his mind. He stood and stepped over the blonde man on the deck beside him. "Why do you say she's feisty?" He growled.

Kirk and Scotty only laughed harder. Leonard felt his fists clench involuntarily and he realized that he still had his sword in his hand. His captors must have let him keep it because he seemed too startled to use it.

"What did you do to her, you son of a bitch?" Leonard hissed, his resolve tightening with his grip. Soon his hand ached against the solid handle.

"Relax. No one laid a hand on either one of the ladies, but your fair daughter yelled like a harpy when she found out what we were planning for you. HOIST ANCHOR!" Kirk bellowed, turning toward the stern. The men rushed about like ants to their tasks, preparing the ship to sail.

"To me? Wait," Leonard reached for Kirk with his free hand, "what are you talking about?" He called over the noise of all the crewmen rushing about.

"You sir," Kirk calmly stated, his voice clear over the din of his fellows even without straining, "are going to stay aboard and serve as our ship's surgeon."

"What?" Leonard's voice was far louder would have been considered appropriate in polite society.

Kirk seemed to think it was because he couldn't hear over all the noise. "You are going -"

"The Hell I am!"

"Please, Bones, don't be rude. We need one, and you have no alternative." He flashed Leonard with a charming smile. "Would you rather we leave you behind and bring those lovely ladies aboard instead?"

"You bastard!" Leonard roared and lunged, thrusting his sword at the captain. Kirk jumped back, mildly startled, but another sword intercepted the blow. Spock had interceded. Like the man who wielded it the sword was of indeterminate origin, neither plain nor grandiose yet far more elegant than Leonard had ever seen before. Leonard didn't care; he merely saw it and its master as obstacles to his revenge and his freedom.

"Whoa, Bones, let's calm down and discuss this as gentlemen," Kirk suggested, opening his hands as though to suggest that he was harmless.

Leonard didn't listen; instead he scowled at Kirk's words and lunged again. Spock slapped the physician's blade down with such force that the tip of it jammed in the planks at his feet. Leonard grunted with rage and tried to shimmy it out of the wood. Some of the crew had stopped their work to watch this amusing spectacle and most of the others were looking on out of the corners of their eyes while they toiled.

"His aim needs work," Kirk commented passively, lowering his hands. Spock shook his head.

"His aim is not his problem, sir. He puts all of his thoughts and his weight behind one blow and does not anticipate a counter attack." The two of them were commenting on Leonard's technique as one would critique an artist's failed masterpiece.

"I won't serve any damned pirates!" Leonard spat, finally wresting the blade from the deck and holding it in front of himself warningly.

"Even if you should choose not to, the crew's needs will be met. You have told me what I need to know to cure the scurvy and we can always bring aboard your daughter and housemaid," Spock remarked with complete apathy. Leonard had never heard a voice so cold.

He wasn't sure if it was rage at his words or terror at his tone that propelled him forward once again, but he felt himself turn his attack toward that heartless villain. Within seconds that same heartless villain had easily parried the blow and with a swift punch of the chest with the hilt of his blade he knocked Leonard so hard that he fell on the flat of his back. The fall knocked the wind from his lungs and he dropped his sword, curling onto his side and gasping for air. Spock knelt beside Leonard and grasping the older man's jaw he forced the physician to meet his dark gaze.

For the first time, Leonard really looked at the man. If the man's voice had chilled his bones before, the strange pirate's face froze them. Leonard did not know how he had ever suspected this man to be human, much less a Spaniard or a Jew. His eyes were black like the shadows of Hell, yet for their darkness they were captivating and aware. His skin seemed to bear the greenish color of the sickly, yet a man with the agility Leonard had witnessed in their very one-sided duel and the strength he had felt as the man forced him to the rowboat could only be in peak physical condition. His face remained apathetic, emotionless, and cold, but it was not unhandsome. He had neither scars nor missing teeth, his skin seemed clean, and his features were distinctive, from his high cheekbones to his straight nose to his strangely canted eyebrows. No human being had eyebrows of that shape, even men who spent their lives scowling. Leonard felt himself begin to tremble, though only God would have been able to tell whether it was fear or some other more horrid emotion which elicited that reaction.

"Spirit without discipline does little good, Doctor," this devil said.

"Discipline," Kirk pondered, straightening his greenish-gold waistcoat, "how long do you think it will take to get some of that in him? With proper instruction, of course."

Spock looked intently into Leonard's fearful blue eyes. The physician coughed and tried to turn his head to pull himself away from that dark stare, but the pirate's grip was iron. He scrutinized Leonard for a minute, then let the man's jaw go. As Leonard turned back to his side, Spock looked up at Kirk. "Five summers," he suggested, "with proper instruction."

Kirk let out a long, low whistle. "Five? That's a very long time, Spock."

"We shall need a physician for at least that long, sir." Spock stood and sheathed his sword. "He has no choice, regardless. Did you bring any food aboard?"

The captain raised an amused eyebrow. "Hungry, Mr. Spock?"

"We have some crewmen suffering from malnutrition."

"We have quite a few more who are suffering from scurvy, in case you'd forgotten."

"Doctor McCoy believes that they are analogous." Spock stated.

"Say what?"

"That they are very similar, Jim." The irony of the statement didn't throw Leonard as much as the intimacy the strange devil-pirate had used in calling the captain by a nickname.

Kirk laughed. "I know what _analogous_ means, Spock!" He shook his head. "Scurvy and malnutrition, huh? Well then, let's head to a more nourishing port. Mr. Chekov!" Kirk called.

"He went below," Leonard coughed, pushing himself to his feet. "I asked him to get me some ale and bandages to dress some of these wounds."

Kirk nodded, his smile never faltering. "Getting right to work; I like that. Welcome aboard the _Enterprise_, Bones."

McCoy dusted his worn blue jacket off and ran a hand over his hair to make sure none of it had come untied. "Why are you calling me that?"

"Bones? It's a nautical thing." The captain shrugged. "Short for sawbones – you do amputations, right?"

Leonard dropped his hands and bounced nervously on his heels, "I can, if necessary."

"Let us hope it is never necessary," Spock stated somberly. Kirk nodded, but not wanting to spoil what little amiability had come between them all, he tilted his chin upwards and snapped his fingers.

"Where are my manners? You've already introduced yourself to all of my men, but I have been most lax in _my_ introductions! This is Mr. Spock, my first of-" Kirk cleared his throat, "mate. That fine Scottish gentleman over there browbeating the few of my men who still think you and Spock are going to keep dueling is my bos'un, Mr. Montgomery Scott, or Scotty as we all call him." Kirk looked around the ship, the pain of seeing so many of his men lying useless and in pain on the deck obvious in his hazel eyes. He cleared his throat and looked toward the stern. "Ah, there at the helm is Hikaru Sulu, a master helmsman if there ever was one. We picked him up over in Nippon 'cause Riley still owes him a duel…" Kirk chuckled. "And you've met Misters Kevin Riley and Pavel Chekov." His throat worked and he waved his hand idly, "The rest of my men will introduce themselves at their leisure."

Loud footsteps clunked up from below, Chekov's messy head following the sound and his heavy boots soon following that. "Keptin! You're beck!" The boy exclaimed, once again adjusting his arm as though to salute, but the bottles in his grasp threatened to slip away from the rags he had somehow stuffed between them, so he clenched his arms still.

"Set course for Cuba, Mr. Chekov," Spock ordered. Chekov took one step toward the grand cabin at the stern, but then shook his head and muttered something in his odd language and hastily gave Leonard the bottles and rags, and then, his burden lifted, went to resume his duties.

"That boy's your navigator?" McCoy asked incredulously. Perhaps that was why they stopped at his home and not Savannah proper.

"His father was a merchant; he's seen a lot of maps and is good with the figures." Kirk said dismissively, looking toward the same portal to the lower deck from which Chekov had come up. Sure enough a moment later Riley's red hair and wide eyes were quickly popping up from below.

"Here ya go, Doc," the man drawled. Leonard was surprised to note that despite acting approximately the same age, Riley and Chekov had to be about five years apart from one another on a closer inspection, with Riley the elder of the two. "Well, looks like Pav already handed you more than you can handle."

"Yes, it seems so, Mr. Riley," Kirk agreed. "Help the good doctor feed and treat the worst of the crewmen," he ordered turning and walking toward the stern.

"Sir?" Riley asked nervously.

"Do you have a problem hearing, Mr. Riley? Make ready the sails, gentlemen!"

"No, sir, I'll get right on it," Riley stammered. Chekov came out of the grand cabin and said something to the Orient at the helm who nodded. "I just don't know how to-"

"He'll tell you what to do," Kirk called over his shoulder.

"Course plotted, sair!" Chekov called. Kirk grinned.

"Drop the sails! Mr. Sulu, take us to Cuba!" Kirk yelled to his crew. A chorus of aye, Captain's rang out and the crew moved about, stepping over their sick comrades as they worked. Leonard's legs lurched under him as the ship began to move. Spock started toward Scotty, but Leonard stopped him.

"Spirit without discipline? You care to explain that?" The physician asked.

While his expression remained carefully controlled, something in the pirate's face changed- softening almost as though with amusement. "Later, perhaps," he said, leaving the doctor to assist the bos'un with the rigging.

* * *

((Author's Note 2: Waistcoat? Jacket? Hair tied back? Remember folks, this is the 18th century. If you haven't seen a pirate movie or documentary in a while, you may want to refresh your memory about the contemporary aesthetic. If you've seen Pirates of the Caribbean lately, that long vest that Jack and other men wear under their jackets is the waistcoat. Len's jacket is likewise long, cuffed, and yes, he's even wearing stockings. I recommend Wikipedia's "1700-1750 in Fashion" article for pictures if you need further reference. ))


	4. By Any Other Name

Chapter 4- By Any Other Name

Disclaimer- If I had the time to go through a lawsuit, I would have updated sooner. I am plumb out of time these days, so I won't waste it in a lawsuit. I don't own Star Trek or any claim to the nautical mythos spawned by the imaginations of sailors and the enchantments of the sea.

Pairings: S/Mc, Sc/U (implied), K/R (implied), Ch/S (one-sided) and other m/f.

Rating: T

Review Replies: _AllyP_: That's me, real subtle. Yes, that was a reference to the five-year mission. I plan on telling you why Chekov keeps trying to salute in a few chapters. As for Uhura and the other ladies… well, read on! _Milwaukee Meg: _Unfortunately, when you have so many sick, they tend to stay where they fall. I'm glad you think I'm staying close to in-character. _CheetahLiv_: Well, someone had to try the TOS characters as pirates, I figured, why not me? I'm glad you're enjoying! Keep reading! _RedSkyAtDawn:_ I'll update as fast as I'm able, but unfortunately, that isn't always as fast as folks would like. _RaniLeto_: This fish is always happy to fuel others addictions to fanfiction. Enjoy! _IronAmerica_: Thanks for lighting a fire under my proverbial ass. I really am sorry to everyone that it took me so long to get this out, but things have been rather hectic here in Real-Life Land. Hopefully this chapter is up to snuff with the others. Spock's statement… well, it's sort of an ongoing issue between the two of them. You'll learn more about it later. And no, it's not simply a sexual innuendo… even though it sounds like one.

((Author's Notes: Okay… On updates- I've said it before and I'll say it again: I am a busy person! I have a job, summer courses, dental work, family affairs, and events that I need to be engrossed in that occasionally get in the way of my writing. That being said, I really do owe y'all my apologies. Two months is pretty bad. I would blame T3 for not whipping me along, but she has her own events and such to deal with. Everyone's at fault, and no one's to blame. So without any more darting around the issue, I bring you the story.))

* * *

Leonard had tended to the sick on deck for most of the afternoon. His face was sunburnt, his clothes soaked with sweat, and his back and knees were aching from being bent over so many sick men. When he walked below decks, a part of him almost expected a reprieve from all his labors, but he had no such luck. The 'Sickbay,' as some of the deckhands called it, was crammed with men, some lying in hammocks, others sprawled on the floor like their comrades on the top deck. These men were worse off than the others. Leonard ran the back of his hand across his brow and walked over to the nearest lad. He had a bit of orange juice seeping out the corner of his mouth. Leonard raised an eyebrow.

"Riley?" He called over his shoulder. "Did you tend to these men down here?"

He heard Riley stomp in from the hallway. "No, Doc, I didn't, but I told Chris to."

"Chris?" The doctor asked, poking his head out to look at Riley. "Who's he?"

He heard a gentle cough behind him. What he saw startled him: a woman perhaps Kirk's age and dressed in a conservative blue dress was holding some rags and orange rinds in her hands. She had obviously been working at least as hard as he and Riley had; strands of her blonde hair were pulling out of her bun and giving her a frazzled look and she had blood, ale, and vomit on her sleeves, but her face was clean, her teeth were all present, and her posture upright. She didn't even remotely resemble what he had imagined a pirate woman would.

Leonard tried not to gape. "Are you Chris?"

"Christine Chapel, actually." She curtseyed and Leonard bowed politely in response. A woman with such manners surely must have been captured, just as he had! Leonard immediately cringed, suspecting she had been harmed in the way Kirk and the others had threatened to hurt Joanna. "Some of the boys call me Chris. I've developed a fondness for the name." She looked over at Riley and smiled. "You can go back on deck, Kevin. I'll help the doctor finish up down here."

Riley looked positively relieved as he turned and rushed back to the top deck. Leonard chuckled and bounced on his heels. That boy was certainly not cut out for medicine. Once he felt they were alone, McCoy seized the moment to be somewhat candid with Miss Chapel.

"I'm Dr. Leonard McCoy. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Chapel. May I be so bold as to ask if you are quite well?" He did not know how to ask if she had been ravished; such a question would never be asked of a lady.

"Oh, I don't have scurvy! I've been trying to tend to the sick for a while, but I've become overrun."

"No, I don't mean to ask if you're sick, I mean…" Leonard hesitated, "Have you been hurt in any way?"

Miss Chapel looked quite confused. "Why would anyone here hurt me?"

"You've come aboard willingly?"

The woman blushed and looked away. "I don't know what you may think of me, Doctor, but yes, I did. Now, I believe there are a few more patients this way, if you'll follow me. I have already tended to the men in Dr. Piper's office." She began walking toward the back, aft, of the ship.

Leonard didn't know what he thought of her either, but since she seemed to know where he was needed, he followed her. "I was told it was called the Sickbay," he commented, changing the subject.

"I suppose the old crew calls it that. When I came aboard, Dr. Piper had dropped some of the fancy terminology to make things easier for those of us who came later, but if you like, we can call it the Sickbay now. After all, Dr. Piper doesn't practice here anymore."

"That sounds fine. How many patients are there left?"

"Six." She opened a door for him. "Here they are."

Leonard walked in. These patients were lying in hammocks and no one was lying on the floor below them. On one hammock lie a sweet faced young Negress dressed in a thread-bare but otherwise well kept brown dress, her pink corset open to give her room to breathe. On another cot lie a lovely white woman whose heavy makeup, ornately piled blonde hair, and shockingly red dress clearly labeled her profession as different from the other two ladies. Her corset was also loosened, but McCoy suspected that was for aesthetic purposes originally. The other hammocks were occupied by men, one of whom was a solidly built Negro. Leonard balked and pulled Christine out of the room.

"Just how many women are on this ship, anyway?"

"Just the three of us. Please, Doctor, I know it may seem unseemly to you, but we have a good life here… or rather, I do and they shall once you save them."

"Why are these six people kept separate?" Leonard pressed.

"I wanted to keep Nyota and Janice clear from the boys. There's a fair few who'd try and take advantage of a lady's weakened state if it suited his fancy, and below decks the captain and Mr. Scott can't protect them." Christine shrugged. "The others are just some of the earliest spill-over from Sickbay- before I had to start laying boys on the ground."

Leonard nodded and went in to tend to the ill. Christine followed, handing rags and ale to him when he needed them. She was calmer than Riley was. Riley had stuttered out his fellows' names when asked, and pressed too gently at the wounds for fear of causing pain. Miss Chapel spoke clearly, even fondly of the six patients, and tended to the wounds without any hesitation, knowing that in order to get the infection out and save their lives she may have to hurt the patients just a little. He knew that when he went back on deck he would be telling Kirk that Christine made a far better aide than Riley… though he was uncertain whether or not the captain would care for his opinion on the matter. Despite doing a fair amount of good, Leonard felt bitter as he left the last six patients- not to mention seasick.

The last time he had been on a ship was over five years ago, and the conditions now were no better than they had been on the merchant vessel he, Joanna, and Missy had taken to Georgia. He knew most of the colonists in Savannah had ridden over on the _HMS Anne, _but he had not been part of Mr. Oglethorpe's lofty experiment, though he certainly admired the work he and the colonists had done on the mainland. No, Leonard had come from England to get away from a bitter divorce with his wife. They had never loved one another and for years she made a cuckold of him by sleeping with more men than Leonard had patients. He had turned a blind eye to it for Joanna's sake, but eventually the damage to his reputation was affecting how well people trusted him as a physician, so he gave her father back the dowry, made his case both to Parliament and to Joanna, and broke with Mary-Anne once and for all. Joanna was of marriageable age; he believed no matter which parent she chose to live with she would find a husband without much trouble, and he was honor bound to pay for her dowry. Joanna had no interest in competing with her mother for lovers, so she and Missy – a Negress whom Leonard employed first as Joanna's nursemaid then as a house keeper when Joanna was too old to nurse- moved to Georgia to start a new life. The trip over was no fun at all; Leonard had had to share a cramped cabin with four of the crewmen and Joanna and Missy had to stay in an even smaller cabin with a goat living in it. Leonard had been seasick for the first week, and about halfway through the trip a storm blew his nausea back into full force. If Missy or Joanna were likewise uncomfortable, they never said anything.

Well, healing others may have temporarily kept Leonard from feeling every bump and wave of the ocean, but now that all the patients were tended to, Leonard realized just how rocky the waves were and just how little material was between him and the expansive, crushing depths of the Atlantic Ocean. He felt isolated and alone, knowing the only thing protecting him from the briny deep was a ship full of pirates who would just as soon kill him if it suited their purposes.

Hoping perhaps futilely that fresh air would help to settle his stomach, Leonard went back on deck. Kirk was on the main deck overseeing some sail or other be raised. The roiling waves didn't seem to faze him in the least and the gusty breeze barely stirred his grandiose hat. Not even the sailors on the merchant ship so many years ago looked so natural on the deck of a ship. This was a man who had no home on land- whose life, heart and home was floating across the limitless blue that terrified Leonard so much.

"I'll be asking Miss Chapel to continue assisting me with the sick and wounded. We've finished our initial treatment of the crew; there's nothing more I can do for them until we have more oranges." Leonard crossed his arms.

"Good work, Bones." Kirk said, turning a brilliant smile on the physician. "Miss Chapel was a helpful aide to Dr. Piper when he was here. She'll make a fine nurse."

"Better than Mr. O'Riley, anyway. I'm sure he's a fine lad, but he's squeamish around blood and has a terrible bedside manner."

"He's a good sailor. I suppose I'll do you both the courtesy of keeping him on deck."

"Mr. Roanoke! Firm up that line!" Spock shouted from near by. "Captain, is there any need for Dr. McCoy on deck at this moment, if he has finished with the men?"

"You just manage the lads, Spock; let me handle the good doctor." Kirk chuckled. Spock nodded and walked off without a glance back. "Don't mind Spock. He likes to keep this ship running efficiently… I suppose that's what makes him such a good first mate." A shadow of something, perhaps sadness tinged at Kirk's hazel eyes, but as quick as a blink the look was gone. "Anyway, you'll be boarded up with Mr. Scott. He snores a bit, but he's been keeping a cabin alone for too long, and he's a jolly ol' sea dog."

"And you think he can keep a good eye on me."

"If I wanted someone to keep an eye on you, you'd be sharing quarters with six or seven men in one of the lower holds. I figure a man of your genteel nature would prefer somewhat more civil accommodations. Consider it an honor; if this were a ship of the line, you'd be boarded up with one of the highest ranking officers."

"But this isn't a ship of the line," Leonard stated bitterly, "and Mr. Scott is no officer."

Kirk scowled and turned a sharp glare on Leonard. "That maybe true, Bones, but I'd keep those thoughts of yours to yourself. I'll not have the man in charge of my crew's health laying siege to their morale. Your cabin is the first on the left from the aft hold. I'll send Mr. Scott down to help you set up your hammock."

Leonard was stunned by the severity of Kirk's words. He had never thought that pirates would like to think of themselves as officers. It seemed ludicrous that a group of brigands would want to think of themselves as enforcers of the law. "Kirk, I…"

"Get below. Spock's right. A surgeon has no place on deck if there are no wounded to tend."

Leonard scowled and rounded toward the aft. A few of the sailors paused and watched Leonard go, all of them silent as church-mice and just as quick to scurry back to their duties when he so much as glanced at them. He reached down to lift the grate to the aft hold open, but some blackguard stepped on it. Leonard looked up at the man, prepared to give whoever it was a rather loud piece of his mind, but stopped short when he recognized the dark and devilish face. "Good God, what do you want? I'm going below."

Spock knelt down to meet the older man's eyes. "I told you before that spirit without discipline would do you little good, especially on this vessel. You asked for an explanation. Jim's reaction to your words is one result of such unbridled emotionalism. So is that bruise on your back from our duel earlier. If you cannot restrain your passions, you will meet a far worse fate than a simple kidnapping. At present you have your life. If you cherish it, you will modify your behavior promptly."

Leonard stood to his full height and snarled down at Kirk's devil-faced first mate. "Perhaps my behavior wouldn't need modifying if you bastards hadn't kidnapped me in the first place! I appreciate acting civilly, but there are limits to what courtesy can endure! Therefore, _Mr_. Spock, I would greatly appreciate it if you would get off that damned grate and let me be before my _passions_ lead me to do something we shall both regret!"

Leonard was damned if Spock didn't smirk at him as he stood and walked coolly back to the quarter deck.

* * *

((Author's Historical Notes: The _Anne_ really was the name of the ship that James Oglethorpe and his group of settlers came over to Georgia in. Contrary to legend, the colony was not founded by debtors or convicts, but by regular settlers, though the idea of a utopia for the urban poor of Britain to live and work in was what got the charter for the colony signed. By the 1740's the colony was fairly well established and growing, and Leonard was one of the many who came over with the promise of a new life. It was not a common practice to get a divorce back then, and there was a bit of a stigma attached to the practice- Georgia was about as far away from his bad reputation as he could get.

Any offence made by the terms "Negro" and "Negress" was not intended- they are historically accurate terms, though they may chafe our modern sensibilities. In my profile I list a few other things that may offend modern sensibilities that may be mentioned in this story. I suggest you check it out, just to make sure so don't get upset by subsequent chapters.))


	5. Wolf in the Fold

Chapter 5- Wolf in the Fold

Disclaimer: Here we go for the hundredth time, hand grenade pins in every… I mean, these characters are not mine! And neither is the line I am spoofing… The characters are Paramount's, the line is Linkin Park's, and a nautical mythology is public domain or something akin to that.

Rating: K+ (May become M later).

Pairings: S/Mc, K/R (implied), Sc/U (implied), Ch/S (implied), and other m/f, including later Spock/f and McCoy/f.

Review Replies: _Milwaukee Meg_- Kirk is a pirate; he has no letter of marque and is not on any government's payroll. Interesting question though, given Kirk and the crew's behaviors… Good job trying to read between the lines! _AllyP_- I'm glad that scene with Spock, Bones and the grate went over well. I was rather nervous about it. _History Hound_- Don't hate the players, hate the game. Jim and the others are doing what's right by them, and they aren't "evil" per-se. They just look at the situation from a different POV than McCoy and 'civilized' folk. But more on that later. _Sandysoul_- Curiouser and curiouser indeed! There's always something lurking behind what people actually say and do. But, like you said, I can't just _tell_ you; that would ruin the story!

((Author's Note: A million thanks to **Sandysoul** aka, Inkysand! She's a font of historical and nautical information which will, I hope, only help to improve the story! Some people may not notice the difference between historical fact and Fishey-me's fiction, but like I told Sandysoul, making a change based on aesthetics is one thing, simply being wrong is another.))

* * *

Leonard heaved the grate up over his head and stomped down the stairs into the lower deck angrily, and in his frustration he accidentally let the grate fall while he was still under it, earning a lump on his head for his trouble. He walked down the dank hall swearing and rubbing his injured head. He couldn't imagine a worse way to end the day. The halls were dark and grimy and smelled like mold, and if he was honest, his quarters were no better. It seemed the only place to catch a breath of fresh air was on the weather deck; a place he certainly would not be welcome on until he embraced Kirk and his miscreants not as captors, but as compatriots – brethren pirates.

They were bastards, the lot of them. He almost felt guilty for thinking such a thing about Miss Chapel, but he hardly knew what to think of her at all. She was a lady, but she willingly joined this crew. There was a story there, and Leonard almost wanted to know what it was. The worst of the lot, he decided, was Spock. Something about the way he spoke, the way he looked at him… it sent chills up his spine.

"Spirit without discipline?" Leonard spat into his cabin, "How in hell can there be any discipline on a ship of thieves?" There was no answer to his lament, and the silence filled the room. The room was not very big, but it was more than enough room for two men to bunk in. There was a small cabinet on the far wall underneath a wall sconce. Since the room was so far aft, it was fortunately graced with a window in the wall to Leonard's left, letting in the setting sun's light. Underneath the window there were hooks for one hammock, and hooks for another hammock were on the other wall. There was a space for him there, an innocuous void the crew needed to have filled- a space that had nothing to do with Scotty needing a bunkmate.

Leonard touched one of the hooks. It was cool and rough from long use. None of the hooks looked like they had been neglected. Someone else had used this cabin before him, probably with Scotty, if not some other crewman. As Leonard began to turn possible histories around in his head he heard loud steps thud into the deck and the grate slam shut in their wake. He rounded on the door to see Scotty tromping in, Leonard's sword in one hand, two glass bottles sloshing with liquor in the other, and two beige cloths bundled neatly under his elbows.

"Ye left this on deck," the Scot stated, tossing the weapon so that he could hold the blade instead of the handle and offering it to Leonard.

"You trust me with it?" The physician asked, reaching hesitantly for it.

"Aye, I've seen you use it." Scotty smirked. "I donna have anythin' to worry about." Leonard frowned at that, prepared to rebuke the bos'un, but the large Scotsman just grinned amiably and proffered the two bottles. "Want some?"

Leonard's stomach turned over and he waved a negating hand. "I think I've dealt with enough ale for the month, thank you."

"Good, 'cause this isna ale." Scotty switched one of the bottles to his other hand and pulled its cork out with his teeth. "It's rum, and the finest outta Jamaica that ye can buy. I keep it for special occasions- though not as special as the occasions I keep my scotch for!"

Leonard felt himself grinning despite himself. "Well, excuse my ignorance. How foolish of me to mix the two of them up!"

Scotty took as swig of his rum and waved the bottle for Leonard hurriedly. Leonard took the bottle and sheathed his sword. "Foolish indeed," Scotty rasped as the rum burned down his throat. "Och, that's good stuff."

Leonard looked at his bottle but made no attempt to open it. "I don't think I'm very thirsty."

"That's daft; ye were workin' on the top deck most of the afternoon."

"I guess I should rephrase: I don't think I want to share a drink with you." Leonard stated, not looking at the large man as he said it.

Scotty rolled his eyes, "Now look," he said punching Leonard in the arm, "I know ye don't like me, and I canna say I like ye much either, but it's good rum and I reckon ye could use a drink." Leonard eyed him warily, but didn't move. "Well, drink up ye stupid bastard! I'm gonna take that back to my secret store if ye aren't gonna have any! No sense in wastin' it." Scotty sounded more perturbed about the rum than he sounded angry at Leonard's reticence. Leonard felt himself grinning again.

"Well, I guess one drink won't kill me."

Scotty's face broke into a huge grin, "That's the spirit, lad!" He laughed and smacked Len's arm, nearly knocking the physician off balance. Leonard bit into his cork, wrenched it out of the bottle neck and spat it into his other hand. Scotty chuckled at that, too. "What're ye savin' it for, lad?"

"Well, I don't think I'll be finishing the bottle tonight. I may need to cork it again."

Scotty raised an eyebrow. "Ye're a strange lad, mate."

Leonard chuckled and took a swig of the rum. It was smooth and spicy and burned in his mouth, but it was nothing like the ale and more comforting than anything else he'd found on this ship. He savored it for a couple more swigs and Scotty just watched in silence, occasionally taking a sip of his own drink. Leonard cleared his throat when the silence grew too deafening.

"You were right; I did need the drink."

"Aye." Scotty put his bottle, now well past half empty, on the small cabinet and pulled one roll from under his armpit. "Here, let me show you how to tie up yer hammock."

Leonard stepped aside. "How long have you had the cabin to yourself?"

"Och, about eight months now. I don't mind the company, though. Usually if I'm in here, I'm asleep. I spend most of the day and night on the lines, so I willna bother ye too much, I hope."

Leonard nodded and set his own bottle on the cabinet. "Who was your former cabin mate?"

Scotty walked to the window hooks and thread one end of the hammock around the hook and tied it securely. "Spock."

"Spock? Why'd he move?"

"You saw that knot? You could say he got a promotion. Went from being bos'un's mate to first mate in a bit of a fell swoop."

Leonard nodded at the twist of rope and narrowed his eyes. "Why would that warrant him moving?"

"Well," Scotty said, moving on to the other hook, "it just wouldna be proper, would it, for the first mate not to stay in his own cabin? It seems to suit Spock fairly well. He hated living below decks, and I always kept him up with my snoring anyway. Sensitive ears, those Vulcans have."

Leonard chuckled. "There's no such thing as Vulcans. I'll grant you that Spock looks like the devil himself, but he's no sea monster."

"I didna say he was a sea monster."

"But you said,"

"Aye, Vulcan's have sensitive ears, but they aren't sea monsters." Scotty pulled the hammock taught and then pushed in its center, trying its strength.

"You're mad." Leonard said, shaking his head. "What really happened to him? Was he injured as a child?" Leonard thought, figuring that at least would explain the strange cant to his eyebrows.

"Are ye tryin' to be dense or what? I told ya, he wasn't hurt, he's a Vulcan – a creature of the sea!"

"You _are_ mad." Leonard confirmed, "Either that or you're playing a trick on the land-lubber."

"He'll tell ye if ye ask. He gets a bit touchy if ye ask to see his ears, but I figure he gets over it fairly quick." Scotty scooped up his bottle again and gulped down a long draw.

"Vulcans are myths, just like merpeople and Atlantis. My daughter is being courted by a sailor, I've heard all the stories."

Scotty's eyes gleamed, "Aye, and if ye stay long enough, ye may see that all the stories are true."

Leonard took a long draw from his bottle. "You mean if I live long enough."

"Aye, you do fight fairly bad." Scotty agreed. "Here, now you try." He handed the physician his rolled-up hammock.

"Well, I'm a doctor, not a swashbuckler." Leonard set his bottle on the counter and unrolled his hammock. "I don't really believe that using a sword is the best way to handle every situation."

"True enough. Tha's why I prefer me pistol."

Leonard shook his head. "That isn't what I meant." He looped the rope around one of the hooks, knotting it.

"For a peaceful man, you certainly know how to let your temper get away from ye. Here now," Scotty said taking Leonard's hammock from him, "If ye tie it like that, you'll fall flat on the deck when ye lay in it." He demonstrated by giving the rope a hard tug, slipping it loose. "Like this," he demonstrated.

Leonard watched, crossing his arms. "If you had children, you'd understand."

Scotty looked at the physician gently. "About that…"

"What?" Leonard snapped.

"I'm sorry, lad. About all this. But we need ya."

For some reason hearing the man apologize made Leonard feel better. He may have been pressed into service on a pirate ship, but at least they weren't remorseless devils. Devils maybe, but sympathetic ones.

Leonard shrugged. "So, I tie it like this?"


	6. Friday's Child

Chapter 6- Friday's Child

Disclaimer- Blargh. I'm running on adrenaline and caffeine from being up all night. I don't have the energy to steal from Paramount, nor the brass to offend the sea-spirits… Spooky people them. And those sea-spirits are pretty creepy, too.

Rating & Pairings as before.

Review Replies: Milwaukee Meg- You and I have already spoken at length about this, and so I have to explain a bit here to other people. I'm keeping Sulu. This is an aesthetic change, since seriously, what would the Enterprise be without Sulu? Anywho, I've fixed the country name out of courtesy to the Japanese of old. (Nipponese? Eh, I'm not sure.) Allyp- Out of like 8 reviewers (including the ones on the S/Mc Haven) you were the only one to apparently catch the mechanical rice picker allusion! Brava! (Though I'm sure other people got it, just no one said so… It probably wasn't as funny as I thought it was.)

((Author's Note: Sorry about the hiatus. If you know why I was gone, then you know I've said all I need to say. If you don't, don't worry about it. For all my friends who were there for me, I offer you my sincerest thanks. I really was busy with work, school, and other such crap. Sorry guys, I'll be more prolific this time around, I hope. All my credit for Uhura's song goes to Gene L Coon's "Beyond Antares," which you may have heard in such episodes as "Charlie X," "Conscious of the King" and "The Changeling." If you didn't hear it there… well, I guess you didn't catch those episodes. Go watch them!))

* * *

The first week out was the most trying. Leonard and Chris moved the sick crewmen below decks. Leonard preferred to put them in rooms with windows or portholes so they could get fresh air. Too many of the lads had horrible sunburns and they were in the way of the folks trying to run the ship. When he suggested that he may have to put some of the crew in Kirk or Spock's quarters, both men nodded, but said nothing. For the whole week, they didn't complain that their private rooms were being usurped- but neither did they choose to share their quarters. Spock immersed himself in the running of the ship, seeming never to sleep, nor to need it. Kirk, on the other hand, climbed to the top of the mizzenmast and tied himself securely so he could sleep upon the yardarm up amongst the stars.

Leonard was not going to give himself preferential treatment, so even he and Scotty had cabin-mates for a few days, but much to the physician's surprise, as soon as the lads were fit to stand without help, they fetched their hammocks from the weather deck and made their way to the gun deck to finish their recuperation. Leonard couldn't understand why they'd prefer to sleep in that dank, smelly, and dark place.

"They'll catch their deaths breathing that air!" Leonard exclaimed as the last lad quit the relatively luxurious room for the gun deck.

"I told ye, Len, it jest isna right for the upper ranks to share their cabins." Scotty explained with a shrug.

"But it's foul down there…"

"Mayhap, but them that can will make their way onto the weather deck when they're able. Meantime, I think they'll be more comfortable in their hammocks than on the floor of even the captain's quarters. I warrant that most of those lads are jest relieved to be able to stand. Ye've done good work, Len."

Leonard just sighed.

A few nights later Leonard was on the quarterdeck tending to Chekov's ankle. The energetic youth had twisted it when he tripped running up the stairs. Leonard was just about finished when he overheard the strangest conversation.

"Captain, we must hold here for the evening," Spock warned. Kirk was manning the wheel while Sulu slept.

"No." The captain's fists were clenched so tight that his knuckles were white with the strain. "The winds are favorable. If we stop now, we could take days or even weeks off our progress."

Spock stood ramrod straight and held his hands behind his back, "If we do not stop, the ambassador will be most displeased." The first mate's eyebrows were furrowed just so- making him almost look afraid.

"Three quarters of my crew has been weakened with scurvy, and a fair number of them are still lying in their hammocks dying. I won't risk a single one of them for the ambassador's pleasure. We sail on."

"Sir, you know that not stopping could prove more dire than-"

"Exactly whose side are you on, Spock?" Kirk snapped angrily. Spock raised his chin.

"I shall not permit you to hold me responsible if the same thing happens to one of our men that happened to-"

"You are relieved, Mr. Spock." Kirk barked. Spock's features didn't change in the slightest, but his shoulders seemed to fall minutely.

"Sir…"

"I suggest you find somewhere other than the weather deck to occupy your time until the next watch, because if you so much as speak to me until then, I'll have you pumping the bilges."

Spock nodded and wandered below. Chekov was pointedly not looking up at the captain.

"What has Kirk in such a foul mood?"

"Are you done vith my ankle, Doctor?"

"Yes, but-" Leonard tried to continue but Chekov pushed himself up and shakily limped over to the helm.

Leonard shook his head and went back to his cabin. Scotty was fast asleep, one arm hanging over the edge of his hammock. Sleep seemed like a wonderful idea. Leonard shrugged off his jacket and waistcoat, clambered into his own hammock and drifted off.

As the days had passed he was awakened by a louder and louder tromping about up on deck. Some days he heard whoops and cheers as friends were reunited, and despite not being a morning person, Leonard had a hard time grumping at knowing people were feeling better. On that cool, dark, summer morning he woke up to something different. Unlike most mornings, where a loud clamor of some sort erupted from on the main deck, this morning a sweet warbling trilled from the hallway beyond his quarters. Leonard blinked his dreams away from his eyes and sat up. Scotty was sleeping soundly, barely even snoring, as though in deference to whoever was singing.

"_The skies are blue and shining_

_Where my heart is,_

_Where my heart is,_" The song floated through the wooden walls. Leonard pushed himself from his hammock. He fumbled around in the dimness of the early-morning light for his waistcoat and jacket, waking Scotty with the noise.

"What're ya doing?" Scotty grumped.

"Do you hear that?" Leonard breathed.

"-_Where the scented lotus flow'r is blooming…_

_Somewhere beyond the shores,_

_Beyond Antiles_."

Scotty bolted up, steadying himself just barely against the wall. "Well I'll be damned!" He laughed. Leonard stared.

"Who is that?"

"Miss Uhura!" He slid out of his hammock and snatched up his dirty brown jacket, pulling it on so fast Leonard thought it might rip. He loped across the room and flung the door open. "Ny!" He cheered, barreling out into the hallway.

Leonard poked his head out to watch. He saw the fair Negress turn just before the large Scotsman wrapped his arms around her delicate waist and spun her around the cramped hallway.

"Scotty!" She laughed. "It's wonderful to see you this morning."

"Lass, ye don't know how worried we've been. The whole crew's been on pins and needles. It's a damned miracle to see you an'… an' everyone else…" Scotty chuckled with a shake of his head. Uhura put her hand to his cheek she still looked weak, like she was too tired to stand.

"What do you mean? What's happened?"

"Scurvy. The whole crew… If it weren't for our new doc, we'd've lost almost everyone." His voice was weak. Uhura blinked, her eyes wide with astonishment.

"The whole crew? New doctor? Do you mean to tell me that Janice and the others in Doctor Piper's office have scurvy?"

"Aye. We had so many sick that we couldn't bring 'em below decks. Miss Chapel couldna handle the load."

"So, what new doctor do you mean?" She asked. Leonard cleared his throat. She looked at him and beamed. "And who do I owe the thanks for keeping me from succumbing to scurvy?"

"Leonard McCoy, ma'am." The doctor said with a polite bow. She blushed and pulled away from Scotty, only her hand resting on Scotty now to keep her weak legs from buckling under her.

"My name is Nyota Uhura." She curtseyed in response to Leonard's bow. "If there's anything I could do for you, just let me know."

Leonard grinned. "It was my duty as a physician, ma'am. Consider it nothing."

"Oh, listen to how he talks to me!" Her smile was infectious. Leonard could appreciate why Scotty was so fond of her. "He's so polite. What port did you pick him up in?"

Scotty tugged on his collar. "Eh, well, there's a bit of a story… Erm,"

Leonard debated between telling the fair lass just what the crew had done to 'convince' him to come aboard, but he didn't want her pity. "It's my story to tell. Unfortunately now is not the time for such a tale. I need to check on the remaining patients in Sickbay, so if you'll excuse me." He nodded at Uhura and Scotty and turned toward Sickbay.

A few minutes later he heard Uhura's voice echoing down the corridor as he inspected Miss Rand.

"_I'll be back though it takes forever,_

_Forever is just a day,_

_Forever is just another journey,_

_Tomorrow a step along the way_."

McCoy tried not to let the words get to him and he pulled a damp rag out to tend to the patients. Miss Rand was still pale and wan, with sores on her arms and the two lads who remained in Sickbay were no better off. All the crewmen resting in their hammocks on the gun deck were still trying to recuperate. He knew yelling at Kirk wouldn't make the wind blow any harder, but he couldn't stay below decks watching his patients waist away for another moment.

On deck the sun was beginning to blaze. Leonard could see some of the young men from below trying to help out on deck. They weren't doing much more than scrubbing the deck, fishing, or mending nets, Leonard supposed they were grateful to be doing something other than letting scurvy just wreck their bodies. Leonard knew he'd had nowhere near enough fruits or vegetables for everyone, but perhaps simply knowing there was someone there trying to help… hope was a more powerful medicine than anything Leonard could concoct and put in a vial.

Squinting into the morning glare, Leonard tromped up on the quarterdeck to talk to Kirk. The captain was peering with one eye through his telescope, a grin on his face. At the sound of his physician's footsteps, he opened his other eye and put the telescope down.

"Morning, Bones."

"How much longer until we reach Cuba?"

"Chekov expects we'll be there sometime this afternoon, assuming the wind keeps blowing in our favor."

McCoy felt himself grin, "That soon? That's impressive."

Kirk closed his telescope and looked out at his ship and his crew. "And that's with most of my men out of commission. Imagine what we can do at our full potential."

"Captain!" McCoy heard Riley shout from up on the yard arm of the mainmast. "Land ho!" He pointed a finger toward the western horizon. Uhura, who had been tending to a net and humming her lovely melody, and some of the boys on the main deck stood up to look out where Riley was indicating. Kirk snapped his telescope back out and nodded certainly.

"Very good, Mr. Riley!" Kirk said quietly. Spock stepped out from the captain's cabin, Chekov not far behind him.

"Did Mr. Riley say he saw land?"

"Kewin! If you are just saying dat to prove me wrong, I vill climb up there and cut you in half!" Chekov barked. Riley laughed and stood, one arm wrapped around the mainmast, the other one waving comically.

"I'd love to see you try!"

"Alright, Riley, that's enough! Get down here and gather your landing party!" Kirk said with a chuckle.

Riley looked at one of the other men on the sail who waved at him to go ahead. Riley scrambled down and darted up to the stairs to the quarterdeck. "You want me to lead a landing party, sir?"

"You saw the land, you lead the landing party. Besides, Mr. Spock and Mr. Scott and I will be coordinating docking the ship and getting a list of supplies from Dr. McCoy."

Riley beamed. "Alright, sir. I'd like Chekov, Greene, and Stiles with me."

"You and Chekov won't go doing anything else… no fighting or showing off?"

"Sir!" Chekov snapped, elbowing past Spock and taking off a small round hat. "Keptin, you can count on us to get ze job done."

Kirk looked at Spock who nodded minutely. "Alright then, Mr. Riley. Be armed and ready to go in an hour." Riley nodded and Chekov and he went to gather Greene and Stiles. McCoy shook his head.

"What do they need to go ahead of us for?"

Spock walked out, crossing his arms. "The Spaniards like English pirates even less than they like the English navy, Doctor, but sometimes we can slip in unnoticed at the correct port. Mr. Riley and his men shall be establishing our identities as merchant sailors and keeping a lookout for any Spanish troops who might be a hindrance to our goal."

"But they won't be departing for another hour. While Scotty and I prepare the ship for docking or a possible attack, why don't you two hammer out exactly what supplies we need to send our landing parties out looking for?" Kirk stated.

"Aye, sir." Spock stated and McCoy nodded in agreement, then Spock led McCoy into Kirk's cabin to write up the list.


	7. Obsession

Chapter 7- Obsession

Disclaimer: At this point, I'd be willing to give my soul for a High-Def Blu-Ray collection of the TOS episodes so I could give them to Dad and steal his DVDs permanently and a cruise vacation because OH MY GOD do I need a vacation... Is that evidence enough that I don't own anything about this story?

Ratings and Pairings: Seventh verse, same as the first.

((Author's Note: For the record, I love constructive criticism. If anything about the story seems 'off' to you, from the most minute typo to the hugest OoC moment or historical inaccuracy, please, let me know. If you're afraid of starting a flame war over it, just PM me- that way no one but you and I have to know about it and you can decide to block me if you think I'm offensive in response. I can't fix a problem I don't know about. That said; outright flames are most unwelcome. Tell me I'm wrong all you like, just say it nicely.))

WARNING! In Oceanus one of the major characters is effectively a teenage girl with a crush on an adult man. Nothing sexual is going to happen between them, but I don't want to offend anyone who gets weirded out by such things. Just consider yourself warned.

* * *

_Some call the sea a woman. They aren't quite wrong, but they aren't quite right. You see, the woman sailors call Marina is really a little girl who still isn't sure of who she is growing into. She still plays with superstitious sailors, she still throws tantrums that leave ships wreaked deep within her depths, and she still sings and dances in the breeze and the red morning sun- but when once she was small and confined within the reaches of the known world, a world of overbearing parents who knew her as well as anyone, lately she has grown. She wasn't sad to see her old parents fall, not when they were so caught up in the killing and the stealing that they stopped loving her. Now there are new friends, old familiar faces who are offering a chance to explore her identity and theirs, together. She really thinks she likes these new friends. Indeed, the sea is not a woman who answers to Marina; she is a little girl who would much rather be called Miri- a pretty name for a pretty girl, at least, that's what her favorite sailor says._

"Keep rowing, ve have to geet beck to ze ship!" Chekov barked at Greene and Finney, clutching his calve. His ankle, formerly only slightly sore was now throbbing with pain. He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid as to run up those stairs the night before. If he hadn't twisted it, he might have been able to keep up with Riley- he might have been able to save him.

The young sailor looked over his shoulder at the tropical hell-hole he'd been forced to abandon his best friend on. He felt something tight ball up in his throat and he blinked his eyes rapidly to keep from letting the wind fog up his eyes. The moon was bright- if Greene or Stiles saw his face they might think the pain in his ankle was making him tear up like some kind of little boy. He tried in vain to swallow the tight lump that threatened to cut off his air, and looking into the waters between the shore where he'd been forced to leave his best friend and this tiny rowboat he swore he saw something- something weird and not quite glowing but… shimmering really with an almost silver tint racing from the inky blackness to the pinpricks of light from the windows of the fortified port town of Havana.

"Vot vas zat?" He muttered.

"Huh?" Finney panted as he rowed. Chekov looked over at the two of them. Even in the moonlight he could tell they were red-faced and dripping in sweat.

"Ve are close. Keep rowing, you are doing wery vell."

A smile flicked across Finney's lips. "Don't worry, Pav," the older man panted as he pulled the oar into his chest, "We'll get him back okay."

Greene nodded and looked over at Chekov. "You just sit tight, kid. We're almost home."

_Miri never had fallen in love before. She'd had lots of silly crushes, but now that she was older she knew better. _This_ was real; this was _love_. She'd known a million sailors in her youth, but this one, her favorite, he really understood her. He really loved her back like none of the other sailors ever could have. He was handsome, brave, and true- he was perfect. There couldn't be anyone better for her. She would make him hers; she would do anything for him._

Kevin sat staring at the damp hay in the gaol cell. He couldn't believe stupid luck: his first chance to lead a landing party and he gets himself captured. He shook his head. The pretty wench hadn't been _that_ pretty- certainly not worth getting thrown in a Spanish cell. Now, instead of ever getting another chance at leading a landing party again or getting a bigger cut of the booty, he was going to get hung or something. He was just lucky that the Spaniards didn't know he was a pirate, but since he didn't understand Spanish, he had no way of knowing if they had caught up to the landing party or not… if Pav and his cocky attitude had gotten the party into trouble… Kevin shook his head dejectedly. What could he do about it from in here? He could still hear his friend shouting demonic sounding curses in his sharp strange language as Finney and Greene pulled him to his feet. If his ankle hadn't been hurt then Chekov would be in this cell right along with him.

"Stupid!" Kevin cursed himself, kicking at the bits of hay. The motion made Kevin rub his raw back against the stone and he winced in pain. Ten lashes with a rod weren't the worst he'd ever endured, but it was just for starters… especially if they ever found out he was a pirate. He couldn't believe he had been _so stupid_ as to follow that Spanish dame. Even if he couldn't have known that she was leaving the tavern to 'entertain' two Spanish soldiers, he should have known that trying to interrupt a working girl in the middle of a transaction was just begging for trouble. Pavel had tried to tell him it was a bad idea. Kevin could still hear himself taunting his young friend- telling him he was going to be as stiff-necked as Mr. Spock if he kept up that attitude. He was really becoming more and more like Mr. Spock every day, spending so much time with him going over charts and figures; Kevin could tell it was another bad case of hero-worship on Pav's part. Pav's heroes changed from week to week, first Pav's old man, then the captain, then Spock. It wouldn't be long before the kid traded in his maps for a set of surgeon's knifes to be just like their new doc, if past behavior was any indication. Kevin shook his head at the image of Pav with his short hair tied back under that stupid fur hat, trying with his weird accent to tell a gent that he was going to die. "Dumb kid," he muttered affectionately. He had thought for sure trading in uniform blues for that stupid hat would help Pav loosen up, but the kid had a soldier's heart behind a sailor's skills.

He heart footsteps strolling leisurely through the gaol. Kevin's shoulders tensed as he looked up to face the Spanish dog. They'd already whipped him once today- the only reasons they'd come back for more were if they were cruel bastards or they'd found him out. If they whipped him for being a pirate, he could take it- he would have deserved it for getting his friends killed along with him. There's nothing like guilt to make physical pain… less. However, in the dimly lit hall he didn't see the high-kneed boots of a Spanish soldier, but delicate buckled boots and grimy grayish stockings. The Irishman's eyes shifted upwards, taking in dark blue breeches and a darker blue coat, both dripping wet and tattered like those of a man who had been tossed about in a storm; the clothes even had seaweed and sand stuck to them. Riley swallowed back the fear he'd kept under wraps for almost a year now- he knew the fashion of a British naval officer, the not-quite uniform of a fine Lieutenant of His Majesty's navy, but the shadows obscured the face of his doom.

Against the Spanish Riley had a chance for survival- they could only hang him if they thought he was a pirate and unless they caught the others, they had no reason to think that, but against the English Riley had no chance. He was guilty of piracy, desertion, and conspiracy to commandeer a ship and the English knew it. The English were not known to be lenient toward deserters, and they _hated_ pirates.

"Hello, Mr. Riley." The voice was warm, friendly in tone, but Kevin felt himself shiver. It wasn't possible- it had to be the voice of a ghost come to haunt him in his worst hour.

"Who's there?"

The lieutenant stepped into the light and Kevin pushed himself to his feet. He couldn't decide if he was relieved or even more terrified. "My God… Gary?"

_When she had found him he was nearly dead. Many, no, most of the stories started like that- why would this one be any different? This one __was__ different though, because even near death he was practically glowing with life. So many of the others wasted away in despair before she could save them; this one fought. He fought against her, he fought against death, he fought against everything. In the end he lost, but she didn't like that, so she made him live again. She made him a part of her._

McCoy and Spock came out of the lower hold bickering about whether it was necessary to stock extra ale or if they should just resupply more frequently when they saw a crowd gathering at the port side of the main deck.

"Captured! What do you mean, captured, Chekov? I sent you there to establish we were merchants, not to get into trouble!" They could hear Kirk shouting at the weary boy as he and his comrades stepped aboard the ship.

"I know, sair, and I vould have stopped him if I hadn't- AHH!" Chekov gasped, collapsing on his injured ankle. McCoy pushed through the crowd to get to the navigator.

"Chekov did try to save him, Cap'n." Greene said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. Finney nodded. "If it weren't for his ankle the kid might have gotten to him in time."

McCoy touched the swollen skin and Chekov hissed. "It's just sprained. I'll bet it hurts like the devil, but as long as you stay off it now…"

"I'll chop my leg off before I seet by and let those Spanish dogs hairt my friend, Doctor."

"Good luck running after them on one leg, boy." McCoy snapped. He looked up at Kirk. "What are you going to do?"

Kirk pursed his lips then pointed at Finney and Greene. "You two know where he was taken?"

"Aye, sir," Finney agreed.

"Good. Back in the boat, you two. Spock, Sulu, arm up! You're with me."

Spock nodded curtly and rushed into the lower hold again. Sulu just pat a sword that hung at all times on his hips. Spock came back out, his sword and sword-belt in place.

Kirk nodded and he and the men got back into the rowboat. As Spock was stepping on McCoy stood and grabbed his arm. "I'm going with you."

"Don't be foolish, Doctor. You can't hold your own in a fight and if the Spanish see you with us, they'll surely label you as a pirate."

"That may be, but I know the Spanish will have thrashed Riley, and God only knows what they've done to him if they think he's a pirate. You need me."

"We don't have time to debate this!" Kirk snapped. "Get in the boat, but I swear to God, Bones, if you try anything I will shoot you myself."

McCoy nodded curtly and got in the boat.

_When she told some of her dear sailors about her nature, many of them wept or tried to tell her that it wouldn't, didn't matter. He didn't. He just smiled and wanted to know more. No one else ever wanted to know more about her- they all thought they understood her. She shared everything she was with him. She let him see everything she was, and everything she was capable of. He smiled a smile that Miri fell in love with. She would give anything for that smile._

"Mr. Riley, is that any way to address a senior officer?" Gary stood there, his wig sopping and bits of his dark hair peeking out from under it, sticking to his temples. It would have looked ridiculous if his eyes weren't shimmering with an eerie silver light.

Riley's throat bobbed. "Ah, sorry, Mr. Mitchell, sir, lieutenant, I, ah-" he coughed.

"Oh, that's right. You don't answer to a superior officer anymore, just the captain, the bos'un and their little _first mate_."

"Captain Kirk's done better by me than any officer I've ever served under, sir."

"Mr. Riley, you're facing the gallows and your precious _captain_ isn't here to help you. _I_, on the other hand," Mitchell walked through the solid iron bars, his silver eyes flashing hypnotically, "am here, and _I_ can get you out."

Riley ran a hand through his greasy red hair, his wide eyes darting around. "We thought you were dead, Gary… I mean, you were gonna kill all those Vulcans and when you fell overboard-"

"Those green-blooded bastards didn't even blink! They were just as willing to watch me die as I would have been them, don't think for a moment that they're any better! I know of greater powers in these waters than those cold-hearted monsters, and you can have some. Think, Kevin! You're descended from Irish kings, yet you serve like a dog under an English captain."

"I, I, I, know, but… but he's-"

"He's what?"

"He's my captain!" Riley spluttered, his fists balled up tight.

Mitchell narrowed his gleaming eyes, "I know you sailors. You're only loyal to whoever gets you the most gold, it doesn't matter if that's a merchant, a navy, or a pirate. You forget, Riley, he left me to ROT, just like he's leaving you." The walls trembled at Mitchell's words and Riley felt his own knees giving a shake in response.

"Okay… okay! Fine, you get me out of here and I'll do whatever you want."

"Just tell me what I want to know and I'll get you out."

"Sure… sure." Kevin felt like shit as the words came out of his mouth. "What do you want to know?"

"I understood your men were dying- of scurvy, I do believe."

"Yeah, so?"

"It seems strange to me that a ship full of dying men would trek down from Charleston to Havana. Why didn't Kirk turn himself in?"

"We… we were gonna just bunk up on some little island for a few days to recoup, but when we press-ganged this doc, he decided-"

"Doc? You found yourselves a medic? Kirk thinks one doctor will keep his men safe from a raging sea?"

"I don't know! I just know we were supposed to stop here and pick up the supplies the doc asked for."

Mitchell frowned and seemed to think about the matter for a few moments. "I see." He put his hand to his forehead and began to massage his temple with his other hand, a frown pulling at his lips.

"Are you alright?"

Mitchell looked at Riley and a smug grin peeled across his face. "Oh, I'll be fine." He thrust his hand in Riley's direction. Even though the lieutenant's hand didn't even touch him, Kevin gasped and began to choke. He fell to his knees, his mouth open and gaping for air, screaming mutely as grey water began to bubble out from behind his lips.

"I just didn't want that answer."

_As far as she could see, her love could never do any wrong. He was going to teach her about love and life and being who you are and doing what you want. He was the perfect man._

Spock pressed the edge of his sword to a fat guard's neck. "Where did you lock up the boy?" Kirk asked. He had taken his over-large had and sat it squarely on McCoy's head to preserve the secrecy of the physician's identity.

"_Que? Que?_" The Spaniard gasped, "_No sé lo que estás diciendo!_"

Kirk pulled his pistol. "_Habla Inglés _ahora_?_"

The guard trembled and fell to his knees. "Boy, boy is in the cell. Two floors down, in the door on the left."

Kirk grabbed the man by his breastplate and shoved him at the door. "Then by all means, lead the way, _Señor_."

Spock put the tip of his sword to the man's back and the fat guard led him and Sulu down the stairs.

"Go with them, Bones; Riley may be hurt." Kirk ordered. "Greene, Stiles, you're with me."

McCoy nodded and rushed after the two armed men. When he caught up to them he could see them egging the guard to unlock the cell door. The room stunk of bilge water and there were pools of the rancid brine between damp piles of hay and cracks in the stone floor. Riley lay face down in the stuff, soaked to the bone. When the cell was opened McCoy slipped in and turned Riley onto his side and grey water seeped out of his mouth.

"How do you drown in a gaol cell?" Sulu breathed. Spock pressed the guard up to the wall. The fat Spaniard spluttered as the Vulcan pressed his sword to his throat.

"What did you do to him?"

"Me? I didn't… we just gave him a thrashing!"

"Spock, c'mere." McCoy ordered. Spock looked at him, quirking an eyebrow. "I need you to help me. He's not too far gone yet."

Spock shoved the guard against the wall and strode over to help McCoy. The Spaniard swore a bit. McCoy put Riley on his back.

"Hold his stomach." Spock did and McCoy tilted the face and pressed his lips to it. Spock's eyebrows lifted in surprise. McCoy exhaled. Grey water rushed into his mouth and the doctor gagged. He coughed the filth out. "Guh! It's horrible."

"Try again." Spock ordered. McCoy nodded and pressed his mouth to Riley's again. Two breaths later and McCoy had expelled some more of the grey bilge water and Riley popped up coughing and retching up water and bile. McCoy held the boy by his shoulder as the boy finished.

"Easy now," he whispered between the boy's hacking coughs and more bile. "You're gonna be alright, boy."

"Gary… It was Gary!" His wide green eyes fixed on Spock. "I saw Gary! He wasn't dead, he tried to kill me!"

"Lieutenant Mitchell?" Spock breathed. He looked pale. Riley nodded, looking grim. "We have to tell the captain."

"Who's Gary Mitchell?" McCoy asked.

Riley and Spock exchanged a glance but said nothing. McCoy looked at Sulu who was guarding the door.

"Ask the captain. That was before my time."

Spock pulled Riley to his feet. McCoy pushed himself up. "Spock," He grabbed the Vulcan's arm. "Who is Mitchell?"

Spock looked at Sulu and nodded. Sulu stepped over and slit the Spaniard's throat. McCoy's jaw dropped.

"What the hell did you-"

"No one must know we were here." Sulu stated wiping off his blade.

McCoy lunged and Spock restrained him. "If you want answers you will come now. Get an arm under Riley, if we stay we'll loose our lives and our safety. The Spaniards won't let us go if there is even the hint of suspicion that we are not what we seem. If he tells his fellows that we helped him escape our entire landing party will be in jeopardy. We have to tell the captain what we have learned about Mitchell."

Spock shrugged McCoy off his arm and pushed ahead. McCoy linked and arm under Riley and followed, spitting a curse under his breath.

* * *

((Author's Note: "Gaol" is an 18th century spelling of the word "jail" and means the same thing.

Spanish for non-Spanish speakers:

_Que?_ - What?

_No sé lo que estás diciendo! - _I don't know what you're saying!

_Habla Inglés _ahora_? - _Do you speak English _now_?

_Señor - _Sir.

Thanks again to Allyp for telling me how to write in Spanish.))


	8. A Piece of the Action

Chapter 8- A Piece of the Action

Disclaimer: I own as much of Star Trek as I own the riches of the ocean blue…

Rating/Pairings: S/Mc, (implied) K/R, (implied) Sc/U, (one-sided) S/Ch, plus other implied m/f (which does include some implied S/f and Mc/f).

Author's Note: ((Notes on the Spanish translations are at the bottom, and like the chapter before 'gaol' is just the 18th century spelling of the word 'jail'. Thanks so much to Traycon3, Allergic to Paradox, and my friend Kat in RL for beta'ing this chapter for me. And thanks to all my reviewers for giving me insight and support!))

* * *

"You didn't have to kill him!" Kirk could hear McCoy snap as Spock led him and the others through the gaol door. Spock said nothing as he nodded to acknowledge his captain. Riley winced and turned his head so his ear wasn't so close to McCoy's mouth.

"Jeeze, Doc, I'm right here. Don't shout." The Irishman's voice was hoarse and he wheezed out the last words with a visible strain.

McCoy frowned and quietly sneered, "Doesn't it bother you that a man is dead on your behalf?"

Riley tensed. "Better him than us."

Spock nodded. "Mr. Riley, tell the captain what you told us."

Riley tried to peel away from McCoy's support, but his knees wobbled and McCoy tightened his hand on his torso. "It was Lieutenant Mitchell, Captain. Gary, he just, walked right through the bars like they weren't even there… you shoulda seen his eyes, they were shimmering all silver-like, like a mirage on a hot day."

Kirk's eyes narrowed. "Gary? I thought…"

Riley swallowed nervously then tried to clear his throat. He coughed, and soon was nearly doubling over with a hacking cough. McCoy held him upright. "You okay, boy?"

Riley nodded between two lighter coughs. "Throat's raw…" He coughed again. "I don't know how he did it, but he said he got a hold of some kind of power… He even-" he shook his head, "it felt like I was drowning in the bilges, but I was standing in the middle of a stone cell. I know he did it, Captain. He just threw out his hand and I could feel my lungs about to burst… I could taste-" he coughed, gripping McCoy's arm tight as he nearly fell over, "I can taste that filth, rancid in my mouth, burning my throat and smothering my lungs. He didn't even touch me."

Kirk waved his hand to order his men to come along. "We need to get back to the ship. Can you walk, Mr. Riley?"

"Sure, I think so, sir."

Kirk smiled gently. "Well, we'll get you back even if we have to carry you. Spock, you're up front with me. Sulu, cover us. Finney, Greene, on either side of Bones and Riley. Keep your eyes open. We're in the middle of a Spanish fort."

They lined up according to the captain's orders and slowly began to creep stealthily through the dark corridors.

"Spock, who was Bones talking about before?" Kirk whispered.

"The guard." The Vulcan stated quietly.

Kirk clenched his jaw. "Did he have to die? Was he trying to stop you?"

"It was a sound solution. Had he lived, he would surely have sounded the alarm and revealed our identities."

"Oh, really?" McCoy hissed. "And just how did you know that? Could you read his mind?"

"Bones!" Kirk snapped.

"I did not," Spock stated. "Though I fail to see a better solution."

"Knock him out." Kirk replied. "Lock him in the cell. By the time he came to, all of us would be long gone." He looked distracted.

"And when he did 'come to' he would have told his fellows who we were."

Kirk's lips tightened. "I thought you opposed killing."

"I did not kill the man, Captain."

Kirk rounded on Spock and pointed his pistol at him. "Just like your people didn't kill Gary?"

"Jim!" Spock gasped, taking a step back, nearly running into Riley and McCoy.

"Captain, this isn't the place for this!" Sulu hissed, looking over his shoulder into the blackness behind them. "I can hear footsteps."

Kirk scowled and turned back. "Don't think we're finished with this, Spock."

McCoy blinked at the captain's behavior. Riley was shaking.

They continued down the dark corridor when they heard the sound of a latch turning. Kirk's eyes flinched at the bright thin line that broke through the darkness. The rough stone absorbed most of the ray, but in the dim ray of light the pirates could see the glimmer of a Spanish sword.

"We've got to get out of here," McCoy hissed. Kirk glared at him.

Kirk put his finger to his lips and gestured with his sword. Spock and the others edged toward the walls, but McCoy, who was still holding Riley up, looked confused at them and shook his head. Finney tugged at his sleeve and urged him to follow. Leonard hissed when he backed so fast into the wall that he banged his head. Riley chuckled and Kirk clamped his hand over the boy's mouth before he could start coughing.

The door swung open, revealing a reedy looking silhouette, who called out in Spanish for his fellow guard. Leonard didn't understand his words, but he suspected from his tone that this man was supposed to take over the guard and he was concerned that his compatriot wasn't there to be relieved. The shadows in the dark corridor provided cover for the crew- since it was nighttime outside only the new Spaniard's torch and the moonlight could have revealed him.

"Eduardo? Esto no es más divertido. ¡Salid!*" The reedy man's voice was harsh with frustration and echoed in the stony corridor. As he brought the torch within the room the crew could see him as plainly as he could see them. McCoy noted sadly that the 'man' was really only a boy no older than Chekov. Spock stepped forward as he clenched his sword tight in his fist. "Qué?" the boy asked, his dark eyes flicking instantly to Spock's sword. His face went pale and the boy screamed, "¡Intrusos!"

Spock leapt forward and seized the boy by the throat, and the boy's alarm faded quickly into oblivion as his eyes rolled back and he sank to his knees, the torch clattering from his limp hands to the stone floor. McCoy scowled.

"How many men do you have to kill, you heartless bastard?" His voice was so loud that it echoed many times through the hallway. The whole crew just stared at him, fury in their eyes.

"Jesus, Doc, did you have to shout?" Finney asked, his voice barely a whisper. "We are still in a Spanish fort for Christ's sakes!"

"The guard is not dead this time, Doctor," Spock stated, "Merely unconscious."

Kirk looked away, an almost guilty expression on his face. "Let's go. We can't stay; someone will have heard the boy… if not you, Bones." Finney nodded and Sulu grabbed Riley's pistol, shot and powder from a nearby table and handed it to him. Riley smiled weakly, tucking his gun in his belt and trying to fasten his powder and shot as he walked with McCoy's arm supporting him every step of the way.

He led them through the door, peering into the dim chamber, but even as they left the gaol they could hear the rapid paces of approaching Spanish guards responding to the shouts.

Kirk raised his pistol. "Weapons ready. We only want to get out of the fort and back to town. No one was supposed to die here."

Sulu, Greene, and Spock raised swords, and Finney matched Kirk's pistol. Four guards appeared in the door.

"Halt!" Kirk barked, his pistol aimed at the guards. The guards chuckled, raising rifles to match. Kirk scowled and nodded first at Spock, then at Greene. Greene fired, chipping stone off the walls and startling one of the guards. Kirk charged another guard, barely dodging his bullet and letting fly one of his own to distract him. One of the guards turned to aim his rifle at Kirk.

"Jim!" Spock called out. Kirk turned and punched the man in the face. The other guards tried to turn too, but Green kicked one of them over and drew his sword to threaten the other. With weapons trained on them and no time for them to reload, the guards seemed defeated. Riley smiled and looked at McCoy to share in his enthusiasm, but his green eyes widened at what he saw.

McCoy raised an eyebrow, confused, but then felt the press of a thin sword at his neck.

"¡Quedese atrás o lo mataré!" The very boy Spock had spared earlier growled, holding to McCoy's jacket. Sulu sat in the doorway holding his arm to stem the flow of a slash wound.

Kirk held the gun away from the guards, opening his other hand in a defenseless posture. "Yo no hablo español, señor. Do you speak English?" Kirk tried to take a step toward the boy, but the boy only tightened his grip on McCoy.

"¡Atrás! Usted está bajo arresto."

"Look, we mean you no harm. We just wanted to get our man, that's all."

"Doc," Riley hissed. "I've got my gun in my belt, you could-"

"No," McCoy replied, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm a doctor, not a mercenary…"

"You'll be a dead doctor if you don't," Riley growled.

"¡Silencio!" the guard barked. McCoy winced as he felt the blade dig into his skin. It wasn't any worse than a cut he'd gotten shaving once, but the pain was real.

Riley's eyes were expressive, imploring Leonard to do something to save them. McCoy closed his eyes and felt his heart racing. He didn't know how to use a gun; he'd never even held one before! Still, he fumbled around Riley's stomach trying to reach the weapon.

"Hey!" the Spaniard cried, but then shouted and fell to the floor in pain. Sulu had cut him in the lower leg.

"Let's go!" Kirk ordered. "Greene, help Sulu."

"I can walk on my own, sir." Sulu replied, standing. "I didn't want to tip the guard off." The Orient looked at McCoy and frowned. "So much for letting him live." He pulled back his sword to attack the man.

"Sulu!" Kirk barked. "Stand down."

"Sir!"

"That's an order! Let's go."

Spock, Finney and Greene kept their swords trained on the guards in the doorway and when they had passed through, the three crewmen barricaded the door.

They were fortunate enough to get back to the ship otherwise undetected and undeterred. Spock and Greene rowed as McCoy tended to Sulu's arm, holding his cravat at his own throat to stem the wound he had received when the Spaniard held him.

"Captain," Spock muttered in the darkness, "we shall not be safe in this port for quite some time."

"Were we ever, Mr. Spock?" Kirk asked rhetorically. "We are, after all, bloody pirates."

Spock shook his head. "Regardless, sir, we could have achieved our means much more efficiently if we had killed the guards."

"Spock, we came here to get supplies, not wage war on the Spanish."

"Slow down, Mr. Spock," Greene panted. "You're veering us off course."

Spock raised an eyebrow and slowed the pace of his rowing to match Finney's. McCoy noted the first officer had not even broken a sweat.

"In any case, we're out of there now. All we can do is send Scotty and another landing party to get our supplies and think of a new port for the next time we need to go into port. We're just lucky we didn't try to dock- I can't imagine trying to sail out of a Spanish port with their fort alerted to our presence.

Riley looked at Finney, "Hey, I've been meaning to ask… Did Pav get back okay? To the ship, I mean."

"His ankle's messed up pretty bad, but he's fine. He'll be happy to see you're okay, too."

Kirk smiled distantly. "Given a few days' rest, you'll both be back to driving me half way to insanity."

"Yes sir, and a few day's more and we'll finally get you completely mad." Riley joked.

Spock raised an eyebrow, "You and Mr. Chekov have served aboard the _Enterprise_ for almost a year now, and in all that time, regardless of the chaos surrounding us, you have not seemed to affect the captain's sanity in the slightest. What makes you believe you would drive him completely mad in a few days' time?"

"It was a joke, Mr. Spock," Riley muttered, coughing a little and massaging his throat.

"What is all the chaos surrounding you? I don't understand a bit of this. Y'all wouldn't tell me before, but now we aren't pressed for time. Who in hell is Gary Mitchell, and why did he try to kill Riley?"

Kirk sighed and pulled off his hat, looking tiredly up at his ship as it loomed ever closer.

"Gary Mitchell was my first officer."

"Your first mate, you mean," McCoy asked.

"No," Kirk replied. "My first officer, back when we served on the _HMS Enterprise_."

* * *

*Translation for the Spanish:

Eduardo? Esto no es más divertido. ¡Salid!- "Eduardo? This isn't funny anymore. Come out!"

¿Qué?- "What?"

¡Intrusos!- "Intruders!"

¡Párese hacia abajo o yo lo mataré!- "Stay back or I will kill him!"

Yo no hablo español, señor.- "I don't speak Spanish, sir."

¡Atrás! Usted está bajo arresto.- "Stop! You're all under arrest."

¡Silencio!- "Silence!"


	9. The Enterprise Incident

Chapter 9- The Enterprise Incident

Disclaimer: Jimmy Buffet tells us that the ocean "holds the treasures few have ever seen (most of them dreams)" and Paramount tells us that they own Star Trek. Who am I to argue with that?

Ratings and Pairings as previously.

((Italics indicate a perspective shift and flashback.))

* * *

As the crewmen pulled the crowded rowboat back on deck McCoy got over his shock at Kirk's words. "This was a military vessel?"

"Yes, once. She's been a pirate ship for almost six months now."

"Why in God's name did you defect?"

Kirk looked at Spock and his other crewmen on the little rowboat. "Let me tell you a story, Bones. I doubt you'll believe it."

The boat scraped against the deck as the crewmen on deck pulled it aboard, panting from exertion. Many of the men doing the work should have been resting still, but there was nothing McCoy could do about it now.

"There was once a man, a fine man of His Majesty's navy, a fresh faced new captain. He'd been promoted after a short run as a lieutenant but none of his superiors thought the promotion was ill deserved. This young captain picked for himself one of his closest friends to be his first officer. He had in mind grand adventures and such glory as only the greatest of heroes ever won. He had served under a good captain, one Captain Pike. Pike had been grievously injured in an accident, paralyzing himself from the chest down, but just before Pike handed command of the ship over to the new captain he took the young man into his cabin and told him that the one thing he must always remember to do while he sailed the Caribbean was to drop a tithe of the ship's stores into the water whenever the ship sailed through the Bermuda Triangle. The young captain laughed and asked why he would have to do such a ridiculous thing, but Pike warned him of dangerous sea-people who would drive the crew mad and sink the ship if he didn't obey.

"Sailors always have been a superstitious lot, so the young captain heeded Pike's advice for the first year. Then one day his friend, his trusted first mate asked him why he did such a foolish thing. The quartermasters could not justify to the Admiralty why they lost so much of their stores. The young captain laughed and told his first mate of Captain Pike's strange superstition. Both young men laughed at the idea and the young captain decided that the next time the ship passed through the Triangle, he would give no tithe. He never had believed in sea-people, anyway."

McCoy's eyes flicked over to Spock's stony countenance as he and the others clambered out of the rowboat. "You mean the Vulcans."

"I didn't know it at the time. You see, Pike had been so gravely injured that I thought his mind had gone, too. So we didn't give the tithe and we sailed smoothly through the Triangle. Gary and I just laughed about it. Well, after we had resupplied, we sailed back through the triangle. We were going to Virginia to check on the colony at Jamestown." Kirk frowned and wrung the brim of his hat in his hands. "I was hoping to pay my respects to my late wife. She had died in childbirth just before my promotion."

"I'm sorry for your loss," McCoy breathed, unable to imagine his grief.

Kirk shrugged. "We had to sail past Florida to get there, so once again we found ourselves in the Triangle. There really isn't much of a way to avoid the area since most of the Lesser Antilles are within its borders. Anyway, it was smooth sailing right up until we crossed into the Triangle, then," Kirk made a swishing noise and snapped his fingers, "we were caught in doldrums. Doldrums, in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. We must have sat in that spot for three days before the sea began to churn. It looked like the ocean was boiling from a vent of hellfire. Before I knew it, four men were walking on the waves and waving at us. Half of my crew thought they were looking at demons, the other half, angels. Gary and I didn't know what to do. We prepared a rowboat and lowered ourselves down to talk to the strange men.

"I had never seen men like the Vulcans. Their eyebrows, their skin, their ears- it all looked like some kind of fairy tale come to life. One of them, the oldest one stepped forward. He was their ambassador; he'd been the one who dealt with Captain Pike before."

_"Who are you? Where is Captain Pike?" The ambassador stood with a proud bearing, his steely grey hair only damp because of the gentle spray of the waves breaking against the rowboat and the unseen field that held the Vulcans above the surface of the water. Kirk and Mitchell exchanged a glance. Kirk stood up in the rowboat and took off his modest tricorn._

_"My name is Captain James T. Kirk. Captain Pike was injured; the _Enterprise_ is under my command now. Who, may I ask, are you?"_

_"I am Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan. I understand this is a slight misunderstanding. Captain Pike had an arrangement with our people."_

_"What arrangement is that?" Gary asked. Sarek raised an eyebrow at the man._

_"Is this man your superior officer, Captain? An admiral, perhaps?"_

_Kirk shook his head. "He's my first officer, actually."_

_Sarek gave Kirk a disdainful look. "I see."_

_Gary opened his mouth, indignation clear on his face. "Is that a problem?"_

_Sarek did not acknowledge Mitchell's words. "Your people have long been ignorant of our people's existence. We prefer this. However, in ignorance, your people have a predilection for invading our waters."_

_"Your waters?" Gary laughed incredulously. "If anything, these waters belong to the Spanish."_

_Sarek sighed. "Captain, may I speak with you in private?"_

_Kirk shot a glare at Gary. "Well, Ambassador, I'd be happy to, but I can't walk on water."_

_Sarek cocked his head to the side. "Ah. And before today, you had never seen a Vulcan. Walk with me, Captain. We must talk."_

_Kirk looked at Mitchell. Gary shook his head, but Kirk shrugged and peeled off his coat. "Very well, Ambassador, if you promise not to let me sink."_

_Kirk stepped over the edge of the rowboat. The surface of the water met the wooden soles of his highly polished boots then gave like the surface of a blood pudding, but his foot didn't sink past the surface. Kirk's steps were wobbly as he tried to get used to the minute currents under his feet and the give of the surface. Now he understood why Peter had such a hard time walking with Jesus._

_The ambassador took him about twenty paces away from the rowboat. "Your first officer is quite impertinent."_

_"You'll have to forgive him. He's never met a man who could walk on water before. Please, continue with what you were saying."_

_Sarek held his hands together before him pensively. "Due to the presence of all the unwanted traffic over our waters, we have imposed tribute on every ship. Any ship which does not offer tribute to us will be brought into the depths, its cargo and crew assumed as property of the Vulcan people and the Vulcan High Command."_

_Kirk felt his mouth fall agape at the ambassador's words. "You aren't serious."_

_"We do not ask for much. A trifling tribute as a sign of respect and goodwill."_

_"No government would agree to pay such tribute at the threat of slavery and robbery!"_

_Sarek raised an eyebrow. "No land-based government seems to believe the Vulcan people even exist, thus, none have ever tried to resist. Captain Pike willingly paid tribute to us when he saw how we could affect the minds of men."_

_"And just how do you affect the minds of men?" Kirk asked, his most charming and unsuspecting smile gracing his face. _

_Sarek raised his hand, his fingers held claw-like not far from Kirk's face. "Captain Pike was abandoned by a woman he loved in the colony of New York. The mere memory of her haunted him night and day. Is there someone who plagues your memory, Captain Kirk?"_

Kirk put his hat back on and looked at McCoy. "I watched my wife die once already. The ambassador made me relive that. How do you relieve watching your wife die, taking your only child with her?"

McCoy looked down. "I don't understand how that would make you defect from the British navy."

"When I got back to Gary, he bore the whole situation with quiet rage. I didn't tell him what the ambassador showed me, but I kept giving tithes. He never said anything about it until a few months later. I had no idea what he was planning." Kirk stepped onto the quarterdeck and nodded at Sulu, who had returned to leaning on the helm. "Just keep a weather eye out, Mr. Sulu." Sulu nodded and just shifted into a more comfortable lean. McCoy chuckled. "Scotty!" Kirk called to the bos'un down on the main deck. Scotty had been orchestrating pulling the row-boat back onto the pulleys into place. "Select a new landing party. Spock has the list of supplies. I need you to go get them."

"Aye, sair," Scotty replied, pointing at three men and walking off to find Spock.

"Where did that devil-faced son of a bitch go, anyway?" McCoy asked under his breath. Kirk chortled.

"Anyway, we were on a return voyage from Jamestown, we had just dropped off Commodore Stocker in North Carolina and we needed to inform the Admiral in Port Royal." Kirk smiled hollowly. "And just as we crossed into the Triangle, I grabbed a little bucket of tobacco leaves." He coughed out a harsh laugh, "leaves I had gotten from a farmer for helping his son out through a troubling time. Boys will be boys; the kid tried to stow away on our ship. He didn't want to be a farmer like his dad, he wanted glory and adventure."

"Chekov?" McCoy asked, looking over at the lad who was now leaning against the mast, arguing with Riley, who was laughing almost as hard as Chekov about that night's strange events.

"No, believe it or not, Chekov was actually cut out to be a soldier. When he stowed away, I let him enlist. His English was… is terrible, but he could read charts and do high enough math to plot courses. We needed a navigator's mate," he nodded once at Chekov, "and he really hit it off well with the midshipmen. No, Charlie was the lad I had to send back to his father. I mean, first he had to see that he wasn't cut out for a sailor's life, but once he came to his senses, he was content enough to go back home. So the father gave me some tobacco as thanks. I can't stand the stuff, personally, and I figured even if the Vulcans couldn't smoke the leaves, they'd appreciate the… tribute." Kirk shook his head and rest his hands on the rail overlooking the main deck. "I had it in my hand, over the ledge, when Gary stopped me."

_"I can't allow this to continue, Jim," Gary said, his voice low and dangerous._

_"You don't know what they can do, Gary. Please, it's for the sake of the ship."_

_"No. I've spoken with the Admiralty about this-"_

_"You did what?"_

_"Listen to me, Jim! They won't let you continue to give this 'tribute' to a power England doesn't recognize. If they can tell you what to do, then they have power over one of His Majesty's ships."_

_"Power? They aren't directing me; they don't give me orders."_

_"The Admiralty sees it as a sign of weakness. You either have to stop or you'll be removed from your post."_

_Kirk shook his head. "Gary, you don't understand!"_

_Mitchell's gaze was cold. "Jim, we have to stand up to them. If they want to strong-arm our ships, they're going to have to face that the English won't just roll over to their demands. Sarek called himself an ambassador, but it seems to me that he's never actually made any diplomatic connections with _any _of the major powers in the world. Spain hadn't even heard of them, though from the rumors I've heard in the pubs, Spanish Pirates had."_

_"I don't care, Gary! I'm thinking about this ship!"_

_"And I'm thinking about England__,__" Mitchell snapped. _

_Kirk shook his head. "You're just angry because Sarek treated you like an underling. This is _personal_ for you!"_

_Gary said nothing, then the ship lurched to a stop. The ship's sails swelled in the wind, but the hull groaned as it was held fast. The masts seemed to bend._

_"Draw in the sails!" Kirk ordered. The crew scrambled to obey._

_"Captain Kirk," A clear voice said from the main deck. Kirk looked over his shoulder at the crewman who had called out to him. He recognized the man; it was Scotty's mate, Mr. Spock. The man was a quiet, standoffish man who seemed to be of higher class than he let on. Kirk liked the lad's dry wit and almost Puritan work ethic, though his logical demeanor made him seem very cold. That, and he always wore his tricorn a little tight on his head, covering his eyebrows and the tops of his ears. The lads always tried to get him to wear his hat properly, some of them even making a game out of trying to knock the hat off, but Spock's reflexes were too good, and one man who somehow actually tipped the hat over his neatly tied hair had somehow ended up unconscious thanks to a pinch to the neck. "Please, just drop the bucket over."_

_"Who do you think you are, midshipman?" Gary barked._

_"Please, for the sake of the crew, just drop the bucket, Captain!" Spock implored, stepping forward._

_"What are you doing, lad?" Scotty gasped. _

_Spock just kept walking up to the quarterdeck._

_"Midshipmen are not permitted on the quarterdeck unless ordered. Remember your place, mister!" Gary barked._

_"The Vulcans will enslave the crew and bring the ship to the bottom of the depths. You must not keep the captain from giving the tribute."_

_"I've never known you to be a superstitious man, lad. Stand down." Scotty warned._

_"He is not being superstitious." The ambassador's voice said from the quarterdeck. Kirk and Gary rounded on this new voice to see the ambassador and his entourage standing there as real as life._

_"How in the devil did you get on my ship?" Kirk asked, lowering his arm. Gary let his hand go._

_"Our ways are not easily explained. Why have you not paid your tribute? We warned you once before. This time we will collect- either you give us your tribute, or we take your ship."_

_"If you do that, England will consider it an act of war," Mitchell warned._

_"And what ship do you think the British navy could send that would not succumb to our power?"_

_"There must be a reason your people started demanding tribute from passing ships. You were threatened by our presence and I've checked, only a third of all British ships who sail these waters, merchant and naval vessels alike, pay tribute to your people, and of the two thirds that don't, most of those sail freely. Now, why is that? Why not sink every ship?"_

_"We would prefer to sink none at all," was Sarek's only reply._

_"I don't believe in your power, Vulcan__,__" Mitchell said, pulling his sword. "You have extorted this ship for the last time."_

_"Lieutenant Mitchell, put down your weapon!" Spock snapped, practically leaping up the stairs onto the quarterdeck, his own sword in hand._

_"Stand down, midshipman!" Kirk ordered. Spock hesitated, but did not lower his sword. "I mean it, mister, drop your sword or face charges of insubordination."_

_Sarek met Spock's eyes and with a look of disapproval said, "Violence is not logical, Spock."_

_Spock dropped the sword, but his fists were balled up tight in its wake._

"Is that when you found out Spock is a Vulcan?" McCoy asked, watching one of the crewmen step out of Spock's cabin with the list of supplies the crew needed.

"You could say that. Really, it was when we found out that Spock is Ambassador Sarek's son," Kirk replied, nodding to give Scotty the go-ahead for his landing.


	10. The Enemy Within

Chapter 10- The Enemy Within

Disclaimer: Though I write about them, I'm no pirate, so I won't lay claim to that which isn't mine.

Ratings and Pairings as before.

((Author's Note: In this chapter, Bones displays a bit of racial prejudice typical of the setting (and not just against Spock). He'll get over it in the future, but until then, I'm sorry if it offends. As for some historical context: Port Royal really was a British city in the Caribbean with its own fort, so it stands to reason that the city would have an commodore there. It's _not_ Norrington, for all you POTC fans out there, but you won't meet the commodore for another few chapters.

All thanks and praise go to K.J. Gough for having the gumption to tell me part of this chapter made no sense and for helping me fix it. The chapter has been edited accordingly. Con-crit is love, folks.))

* * *

"His son?" McCoy gasped. "You had the ambassador's son aboard the whole time, and you never knew?"

"Spock's story is…" Kirk hesitated, watching his men disembark, "his story to tell, Bones. You wanted my story, didn't you?"

"Well, I… yes, but," McCoy spluttered, "It feels like I can't learn about one of you without learning about the whole crew!"

"Maybe you can't, Bones," Kirk laughed. "But I won't step on my crewmen's toes. I probably went too far telling you Chekov was a stowaway. You were so adamant to learn about Gary, though…" Kirk looked out across the water, staring at the waning moon's reflection on the inky waves. "And, somehow, I feel like I owe you this, in exchange for putting you in all this danger."

"How did Gary die? Did Spock kill him?" McCoy asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Kirk shook his head. "No. Gary had his sword aimed at Sarek and Spock was unarmed. Gary scowled at Spock. 'Why are you so quick to defend this man, mister? You owe him nothing and you swore an oath when you signed onto this ship…'"

"_He is an unarmed man!" Spock replied, his voice tense, his shoulders tight like his fists._

"_So human," Sarek sighed. "One would have hoped that you would have better control over your emotions."_

"_And who do you think you are, lecturing me, sea devil?" Gary spat. Spock looked away from the ambassador, his face growing green, though at the time an on looker might have thought that he was getting ill, not flushing with shame._

_Sarek stepped forward. "I see no logic in pursuing this mode of discussion with you, Lieutenant Mitchell. You are clearly an irrational man."_

"_Irrational? Why? Because I won't kneel before your unproven powers?"_

_One of the Vulcan attendants to the ambassador stepped forward, but Sarek raised an open hand to stop him. He said nothing for a moment, then, steepling his hands in front of his chest, stated, "Do you believe your ship is not moving because the wind is not blowing in the correct direction? Perhaps you believe the currents have simply stopped?" Sarek took a step toward Gary, well within range of a jab from the lieutenant's sword. "You heard your masts groan as the wind threatened to tear them from the deck. Look overboard, you will see the waves breaking against your hull as they always do. Are our powers truly unproven?"_

_Gary pulled back his sword to jab, but Spock leapt at him, seizing him by the wrists. They did not struggle long; Spock was much stronger than the lieutenant and his grip on the man's wrists was so great that Mitchell was forced to drop his sword. Once Mitchell was unarmed, Spock let him go. Mitchell scowled and punched Spock across the face. Spock crumpled to the deck, his lip busted and bleeding green. Kirk and Mitchell both stared at him, incredulous._

"_He has green blood?" Kirk breathed, reaching for his sword._

"_He should," Sarek stated. "He is my son."_

_Spock looked up at Kirk. Mitchell's blow had knocked his hat askew, finally revealing the slanted eyebrows and pointed ears that revealed his heritage. "Sir, this is not how it seems. I only had the best interests of the crew in mind."_

_Kirk stared at the Vulcan, but despite being outraged at the deception, he somehow believed what Spock said. He nodded and looked at Sarek. "I don't want to fight you, Ambassador. You can take your son and go, if you wish."_

"_No!" Spock and Mitchell both gasped at the same time._

"_Sir, I can't," Spock began. Mitchell grabbed Kirk by the arm._

"_You can't just let them leave!"_

"_They have a hold of my ship, Mr. Mitchell! What else can I do?"_

_Sarek just nodded quietly._

_"Those devils will keep demanding tribute and we'll go through this again and again. Are you afraid to fight?"_

_"Some things are not worth fighting over," Kirk growled. Gary's eyes widened, but then he nodded in resignation, letting Kirk's arm go._

_"I'm sorry, sir."_

_"Understood, Lieutenant. You were doing your duty." Kirk knelt down to help Spock to his feet. "Come on, Spock. There's no place for you here."_

_Spock's eyes were wide with disbelief and he did not take the captain's hand. "Sir, please," he breathed._

_"Come, Spock." Sarek ordered. _

_Spock looked defeated as he took Kirk's hand and was pulled to his feet. Then he, Kirk, Mitchell and Sarek approached Sarek's attendants at the very aft of the ship. Kirk extended his hand to Sarek. "No hard feelings, Ambassador?"_

_Sarek's eyes flicked down to Kirk's hand then he raised his own hand in some strange kind of salute. "Live long, and prosper, Captain. Until we meet again. I _will_ expect our tribute promptly, next time."_

_"Son of a bitch!" Mitchell scowled and lunged at the ambassador, wrapping his hands around the Vulcan's neck. One of the attendants grabbed the lieutenant and pulled him off, but in the struggle the attendant threw Mitchell against the rail of the ship. Gary's eyes were wide with pain and he stood frozen, his back undoubtedly broken. Then his mouth opened and closed like he was gasping for breath and his head lolled back. As he passed out, his grip on the rail loosened and he fell overboard headfirst, a soft splash all that seemed to remain of him._

_"Gary!" Kirk gasped, starting toward him, but Spock grabbed his shoulders._

_Sarek's shoulders fell minutely. "It is not the kind of tribute that we care about, Kirk, only that we receive it. Your sacrifice is… sufficient." Sarek bent his head. "I grieve with thee for your loss."_

_Kirk struggled against Spock's grasp, wanting very much to attack the ambassador himself, but he was so overcome with grief for his friend he felt his knees going weak and the sharp sting of tears blurring his vision. He sobbed once, hammering his fist against Spock's arm, and when he opened his eyes again, the ambassador and his attendants were gone._

McCoy blinked at Kirk and crossed his arms solemnly. "And that was only a year ago."

Kirk nodded, stone-like in his countenance. "I knew England would not stand by and allow Gary's death to go unpunished. So, I got to Port Royal and told the Commodore that Gary had fallen overboard in a storm. I even made a point to say that the storm happened before we even reached the Triangle. It wasn't even a lie- there had been a storm a few days before our little stint with the Vulcans. And the Commodore believed me. He didn't even question me about whether or not I had paid tribute to the Vulcans. I think Gary's orders on the subject were not supposed to be told to me until I gave or tried to give tribute." Kirk shook his head. "Either that, or he made them up in a fit of rage. I don't know. It didn't matter to me. I let my men enjoy some shore leave, and during that week I thought about my next move. I couldn't risk my ship and my crew over something as trivial as a bucket of tobacco again, but I knew that the minute I was assigned a new first officer, he too would have orders to stop the tribute. If I resigned my commission, my men would still be at risk because surely their new captain would not be willing to bend to the Vulcans' demands, and I couldn't just give up sailing."

A gust of wind tugged at the brim of Kirk's hat and McCoy though back to the first day he'd seen Kirk on the deck of his ship- steadier and surer than any one of his seasoned sailors. Kirk never be anything other than a captain, just as McCoy could never be anything other than a physician.

"So, I promoted Spock on paper to keep the Admiral from trying to send me a new recruit with new orders, and just after we disembarked I brought my whole crew to the main deck. I told them that I could no longer serve the power that effectively gave my best friend orders to kill himself and to jeopardize the ship and my entire crew. I told them that I was going to make one stop in the Bahamas to let anyone leave my ship who didn't wish to desert from the navy, but that anyone who remained aboard would be part of my crew as I carved a living out for men who were willing to damn politics in order to get what they needed. I was tired of pretending that the British way was the only way. My superiors had threatened before my wife died to keep me stuck as a Lieutenant if I married her. They didn't trust the Delaware or the Mohicans very much, and they were less than thrilled that a fine officer of His Majesty's navy wanted to marry one of them."

"Your wife was a savage?" McCoy asked, surprised. Somehow he had imagined the Kirk's wife would look something like Janice- who was still recovering in Sickbay from her bout of scurvy- rather than a savage woman.

Kirk glared at him. "Have you seen Uhura?"

"Of course. I ran into her earlier today."

"Would you not say that she is one of the loveliest and sweetest women you've ever seen?"

McCoy hesitated, not wanting to contradict Kirk, but still completely unwilling to see her as his wife. "I would never marry her."

"Because she's black?"

"It would be unseemly!" McCoy replied, bouncing on his heels. "No decent person would ever speak to me."

Kirk nodded slowly. "So you would think. I didn't realize who my real friends were until after I married Miramanee. Gary even held a sword to the neck of another man who threatened to thrash me for 'taking up with that savage bitch'. Gary was truly my closest friend. Even some of Miramanee's people spurned me, and one of her scorned suitors did everything he could to make my life hell. I guess you were right that no decent person would talk to me, but I had my friends and I had my wife. At the time, I didn't need anyone else. When Miramanee died, my promotion came through. At the time, I thought it was a strange coincidence, but after Gary died I just saw that it was politics. I'm sick to death of politics. I'm sick of people suffering and dying because one group of people hates another group."

"So now you kill for wealth?"

"A lot of my crew looked at it like that, but they all knew me better than to think I had gone mad. Dr. Piper, your predecessor, sat me down and told me that the English would sooner kill me than see one of their ships go rogue, and we have been fired upon by men I once served beside." Kirk looked McCoy dead in the eyes. "I had a crew of nearly one hundred and fifty men, and only about seventy of them left me that day. It's hard running a ship of this size with eighty men, even your most loyal crewmen. Piper tried to stay for a while, to keep me in line- I think. In the end, he just couldn't stand watching me open fire or cross swords against Englishmen who had never done us any wrong. He was a friend; he told me he wouldn't turn me in, but he couldn't stay another day. We dropped him off in Tortuga knowing he would find a transport somewhere safer, then we pretty much fled the Caribbean; I mean, we certainly couldn't stay."

"But you came back. Why?"

"Asia is a strange and wonderful place, Bones, but it's slim pickings across the Pacific, and there are creatures in those waters that make the Vulcans look positively benevolent."

McCoy laughed. "After what happened to Gary, those creatures must be monsters."

Kirk nodded and turned to walk to his cabin. "It's very late, Bones, you should get some sleep."

As McCoy walked over to the grate to the lower hold he pondered over Kirk's story. Kirk may have been telling the truth- navymen had defected over less. McCoy shook his head with a bitter laugh, he still only believed half of what Kirk had told him and suspected he only believed some of it because he was so damned tired.


	11. Is There in Truth No Beauty?

Chapter 11- Is There In Truth No Beauty?

Disclaimer and pairings as before.

((This is longer than my other chapters, and I'm not really sure why. Sorry I've been sitting on it so long, something serious came up at home and I've been under a lot of pressure.

This story is also posted on the Spock/McCoy Haven on Yahoo Groups and on under the screenname "Traycon3 and Fishey Me".))

Leonard sat up with a start to the sound of boots tromping on the planks above him. Scotty wasn't in the room, so Leonard figured that the boots on deck were the landing party. He pulled on his waistcoat, jacket and tricorn, pulling his cravat out of his pocket and draping it around his neck as he walked out of his quarters. Just before he left, he grabbed the doorframe, turned around and undid his hammock. He rolled the cloth up tight like Scotty had shown him his first day. While he wasn't fond of the little routine, he had to admit that after a day in the sun, the hammock smelled better than when he left it in the cabin. The gun deck reeked of mold, stale water, and waste and the smell seeped into even the 'officer's' cabins.

_Officers_, the physician thought to himself, _go figure_. He had never thought that the men who protected his country, his colony, and his family from all the dangers of the sea would ever need or want to defect. Kirk's situation was certainly… incredible- in every sense of the word. When he stepped up on deck he felt a fresh gust of the morning breeze smack him sharply in the face with that kind of cold that only a midsummer sunrise can manage- after the night had settled in and before the day could begin to heat up. He shivered and finished tying his cravat, if only to keep his neck warm. The boys on deck were lugging crates of citrus and root vegetables, barrels of pickled cabbages and cucumbers, sacks of hardtack and salt pork, barrels of ale, beer, and rum ('cheap stuff,' Scotty had mentioned as he rolled the barrel past the doctor to the lower hold), and four live pigs.

Kirk smiled at McCoy from up on the quarterdeck. "Does it meet with your satisfaction, Bones?"

McCoy picked up a crate of oranges. "I'm taking these to the poor souls still in my Sickbay."

"You're welcome," Kirk muttered with a wry grin.

McCoy stomped down to the Sickbay and dropped the crate next to the wan looking blonde woman. She groaned a little, but didn't wake up. Christine walked over from one of the lad's sides. "It's a relief that we can finally do something for these people."

"I just hope it's not too late. Miss Rand was the first person I gave the oranges from my home to, and she's still the worst off."

"Well, if I tell the truth, it's probably because she slipped the captain her rations. Most of the boys didn't like the fruit or vegetables, but Janice went down almost as soon as we realized we were low on rations. She usually tends to the galley, she'd probably been making sure Captain Kirk was getting the best fare long before we ran low on supplies."

McCoy grunted with a shrug, deciding there was nothing that he could say to convey his frustration. He could not understand what made everyone on this ship so damned confounding. He didn't know how he was going to treat a ship full of mysteries. He looked at Christine, who had picked up an orange and was peeling it within her neatly kept nails.

"Why are there three women aboard this ship? Willingly, I mean. One I could understand- a runaway slave or a lovesick maid, but three?"

Christine froze, staring at the orange peel in her thin fingers. "Maybe we're three runaway slaves and lovesick maids."

McCoy plucked up an orange himself. His fingers broke bluntly through the rind and juice dripped down his fingers. "How? I don't mean to pry, but I'm going to be here a while. I want to know more about the people I'm serving with."

Christine sighed. "Nyota is a runaway slave in the most literal sense- she fled from a Dutchman who thought a woman with a skilled tongue should put her tongue to a… baser use. Fortunately, his ship ran afoul of a sand-dune before he could-" Christine blushed. "I'm told the first thing Captain Kirk did as a pirate was rob that evil man blind. He even took his pretty slave girl with him to Asia, so he could pick up some new crewmen. Kirk didn't know what he saved her from until later- and he says if he ever sees that man's ship again, he'll send it to the Vulcans as a present, complete with that Dutchman still on it."

McCoy nodded. For a man to try and do such a thing to any woman was despicable; given the chance, he would probably sink the bastard's ship as well. "Did he ever mention the man's name?"

"Trelane," Christine replied. "A squire or some Dutch equivalent. Nyota always tells me the word, but I can't ever remember."

McCoy nodded. "So, how is she lovesick?"

Christine smiled. "She loves freedom. No other ship in all the world can give her the freedom she has here."

McCoy could hear the sweet song from earlier this morning seeping through the decks even now. He smiled and nodded. "Well, it's an odd connection, but I can't fault you for it. What about Janice?"

"Janice met Captain Kirk before he turned pirate, but since he loved Miramanee, he never… well, he never solicited her services."

"She's a whore, then," McCoy sighed, looking up at the blonde woman lying on the narrow cot.

"She was. She gave it up."

"Why? It seems to me there are a lot of customers right here on this ship."

"Because even whores can be lovesick maids," Christine helped Janice upright and squeezed the orange, getting juice all over the woman's mouth and her own pale hands. "Every minute she spends here she's away from her prison. That tavern kept her away from the only man she ever wanted to love."

"Jim Kirk… I'll be damned."

Christine laughed. McCoy looked up at her and quirked an eyebrow.

"What's so funny?"

"You called the captain 'Jim'. I've never heard anyone call him that before."

"I think Spock did once…"

"Spock probably did it to get his attention. He never calls him Jim in conversation."

"What does everyone else call him? His friends, I mean?"

"What friends? As far as I know, the only man aboard this ship the captain considered a friend fell overboard almost a year ago. Everyone else calls him 'Captain' or 'sir'."

McCoy blinked. He's never considered the possibility that Kirk may have been completely isolated on his ship. He seemed like such a charming man and his crew seemed to like him a great deal. "I don't recognize his authority over me. As far as I'm concerned, he's a man and a pirate, not my captain."

Christine giggled and handed McCoy the pulp of her orange. "You and Janice, both."

McCoy scowled and handed her the other orange. "Well, then, what about you? How'd a prim and proper lass like yourself end up working for pirates?"

Christine looked down at Janice, her face becoming like a mask. "I came aboard because I've booked passage to Jamaica. I plan on meeting up with my fiancé."

McCoy blinked at her. "You 'booked passage'?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

McCoy frowned; judging by her expression, it was a tender subject. He looked down at Miss Rand. The pale woman's eyes were fluttering open. She groaned and clutched her stomach.

"Janice! Thank God you're awake!" Christine sighed stroking the woman's cheek. Janice blinked tiredly.

"Everything hurts, Chris."

"You've got scurvy, but fortunately we've got a doctor now who's going to make you all better. Here," she handed Janice the pulp of her orange, "eat this. It will make you feel better."

Janice nodded and gnawed weakly on the fruit. "Thanks," she panted as her eyes slowly drifted shut. Christine looked at McCoy with concern.

"It's alright," McCoy said calmly. "She's still weak. Once she's had some more fruit, she'll be on her feet again in no time. Can you handle the other three? I want to make sure all the lads on deck get and eat their oranges."

Christine smiled and nodded. "Go ahead. I'll even eat one myself, just in case."

McCoy grinned. "Eat more than one. Get as many of these fruits into these folks as you can. One orange won't cure weeks of scurvy, no matter how much better y'all may feel." Then the doctor tromped back on deck. By this point it was much warmer, almost sweltering in the midsummer morning. He heard a sharp whistle from the quarter-deck and looked up to see Sulu smirking at hum from behind the helm.

"What do you want?"

"Your neck feeling alright?" Sulu asked. "After yesterday's adventure and all?"

McCoy brought a hand up to the thin cut on his neck from where the Spaniard had pressed his sword the night before. Then he noticed the makeshift bandage on Sulu's arm. "Oh, damnit, Mr. Sulu, I'd completely forgotten-"

Sulu laughed and rocked a little on his heels. "Ah, don't worry about it, Doc. You were pretty rattled last night. I saw how you treated the lads with sores a few days ago with ale, so I poured some on my cut before I tied it. It's not like I haven't had to tie my own bandages before. You don't need a bandage or anything, do you?"

"I…" McCoy felt his face flushing. "I've had worse shaving accidents. It's no matter."

Sulu nodded. "Just looking out for you, Doc."

McCoy laughed a little, running his hand against his cut. It had already scabbed up and didn't hurt. He got one of the lads on deck to open another crate of oranges and began handing them out to the men. He took one personally to Scotty.

"Hey, I want you to eat this."

Scotty took the orange from it and began to dig into the rind with his grimy, blunt fingers. "Mighty kind of ya, lad. I was beginin' to get hungry."

McCoy quirked half a smile and began peeling his own orange. "It's come to my attention that I… I don't fight very well."

"Aye," Scotty chuckled. "That came to me attention the minute you set foot on deck."

McCoy leaned against the mast. "I'm a liability to everyone if I keep going in without a way of protecting myself. Riley and I would have died if not for Sulu. I froze back there."

"I canna say I blame ya. How many men before ye met us held knives to yer throat? How many prisons have ye broken into before?"

McCoy shook his head. "If I want to live long enough to go home in one piece, I need to know how to protect myself. Can you teach me?"

Scotty plucked a chunk of the orange into his mouth. "Well, lad, I tell ye," He chewed a bit and pat his pistol on his hip with his empty hand, "I prefer me pistol, and seein' how you donna have one of yer own, you'll probably wanna find someone better at the sword than me."

"Who, then?"

"Well, Sulu's a right swashbuckler if I ever saw one, damned handy with his blades. I've seen him take on three great devils with one leg bleedin' and still cut them all to ribbons."

"That's great. He seems to like me well enough, I'll ask him-"

"Och, no. Sulu's as closed mouthed as a man can be when it comes to technique. Says it bein' somethin' about how he was trained. In Asia we heard whispers that he'd learned his technique from mystical masters and Musketeers who crossed the seas to become Jesuit priests. It sounds like rubbish to me, but I canna deny the man fights with the Devil's skill."

"Who then?"

"I'd warrant yer best bet would be Mr. Spock. I've worked with the lad ever since he came aboard. He's good at teachin' the new lads the ropes and he's patient as a saint or a philosopher. Plus, aside from Sulu, you'll not find a man better with a sword than he is."

"Spock?" McCoy groaned, popping a quarter of orange into his mouth. "Isn't there anyone else?"

"Not even the captain can teach you well as Spock. Go on, Len. He's not quite the devil he looks like."

McCoy crossed his arms and sighed. He didn't want to ask that cold-blooded man any sort of favor. There was something about those dark, calculating eyes that made Leonard shake in his bones. He didn't trust him. Besides…

_Spirit without discipline does little good, Doctor…_

Something about the Vulcan just unsettled him. That really was all there was to it.

One of the lads told McCoy that Spock's shift had ended and that he was in is cabin resting. McCoy gave him the rest of his orange and told him to fetch Mr. Spock a new one from the crate. The boy nodded and scurried off. McCoy knocked on the heavy wooden door to the First Mate's cabin.

"Enter," he heard barked from the other side. McCoy stepped inside hesitantly, taking in his surroundings.

Spock was sitting in a contemplative pose on a simple wooden chair behind a simpler wooden desk in his quarters. A cot was nailed to the wall and the floor in the back corner of the room, it's mattress so thinly stuffed that the Vulcan might as well have been sleeping on the tightly wound ropes that supported it. Under the cot was a locked chest just like the one in Leonard and Scotty's quarters. Unlike Leonard and Scotty's quarters, though, there were three small shelves nailed to the wall of the room, their wood a warm honey color instead of the dark mahogany color of the other walls and furniture. They were a new addition to the old ship. On the shelves were books. The Bible was no surprise, though unlike most of the Bibles he had seen, the spine looked crisp- like the book had never been cracked- which to a Christian man like Leonard was a surprise, if not an offence. Though, if Leonard really considered it, it made sense; why would a sea-demon see any purpose in reading the Bible? There were other books that Leonard recognized: a very dog-eared copy of Caesar's _De Bello Gallico_, a copy of Plato's _Republic_ that had some pages poking out of their usual positions- indicating that they had fallen out of the book and were re-secured, either permanently or temporarily- somehow, a few books bound in unmarked leather covers, and three books bound in cheap leather: one reading "Ship's Logs," another reading "First Officer's Logs," and the last reading "Boatswain's Mate's Logs". McCoy noted that the writing on the covers of those three books were all different in style- handwritten by the men who penned the entries, no doubt.

McCoy hadn't come here to discuss literature- and while he didn't actually want to be discussing swordplay with the Vulcan, Scotty had assured him that Spock was the only man for teaching him how to defend himself properly. "I am not disturbing you, I hope?"

Spock did not look up at him. "How may I be of service to you?"

"I was hoping… I-"

"I am trying to meditate, Doctor, if you must interrupt me, please do it quickly."

"I need your help, God damnit!"

Spock raised an eyebrow, deigning now to look at McCoy. "How so?"

The doctor swallowed back his nerves. "I need you to teach me how to fight."

"So that you may leave the ship despite opposition?"

"No!" McCoy ran a hand along the back of his neck, "I just don't want what happened back in the gaol to happen to me again."

"You mean when the guard surprised you?"

"I mean when I froze! I had a damned sword to my neck and I couldn't do a damned thing about it!"

"If I teach you how to use your sword, you must not think it will protect you. The first thing you must learn about fighting is that the 'civilized' rules of fencing are only appropriate in civilized settings. Since battle is never civilized, I will not hold to the pretence of the upper class 'gentlemen' who fight for sport rather than for their lives. I will fight you like the men who are likely to raid our ships fight, with all the cowardly tricks and underhanded moves of a swashbuckler who has learned to fight for his own sake. If you want to learn how to fight according to the rules, you might as well continue waving your blade about haphazardly- you will get killed just as quickly. A raider sees a man with a sword as a threat to be eliminated, not a force worth stepping away from. You might have a better chance of surviving if you learn to control your temper."

"You once said to me that spirit without discipline would do me little good… but I've seen what your discipline, without compassion, does. The blood-trail it leaves."

A knocking interrupted McCoy before he could continue on his tirade.

"Enter," Spock ordered. The boy from before peeked his head in warily and held up an orange.

"Dr. McCoy asked me to bring you this?" He ventured cautiously.

Spock raised an eyebrow. McCoy bounced on his heels. "Here, give it over," the physician ordered. The boy dropped it in McCoy's hand and zipped out of the doorway without bothering to ask for dismissal. McCoy shook his head at his manners.

"I am not suffering from scurvy," Spock stated.

"I am well aware of that. You're eating the damned orange so that you _won't _suffer from scurvy. It wouldn't do for this ship to succumb to scurvy almost as soon as it's free of it."

"She."

"I'm sorry?"

"The proper way to refer to a ship is as 'she', not 'it'." Spock said this with a perfectly straight face.

McCoy blinked a few times, not sure of why the strange man had found that a relevant point. "Alright… Almost as soon as she's free of it, then. Here," he stepped closer and held out his hand, offering the Vulcan the orange.

"Thank you," Spock reached for it, his fingers brushing against McCoy's thumb and wrist. McCoy didn't let go of the orange. Spock quirked his eyebrow again.

"Scotty tells me you're a Vulcan. So does Captain Kirk. I don't believe them."

"Is that so?"

"It is. If you're Vulcan, show me."

"How shall I do that? Bleed for you?"

"I'd settle to see you're ears. The stories all say Vulcan's have pointed ears, like demons."

"Ah," Spock took off his hat and shook his head to loosen his hair so that despite being tied back, it could reveal his ears. Like an Orient's hair, it was perfectly straight and seemed to reflect every light in the dim room. Like a pirate, his hair was slick with grime, long unwashed, but unlike any man he'd ever seen before, Spock's ears swept upward into short but unmistakable points. McCoy leaned forward, his curiosity getting the better of him, and tucked some of Spock's hair behind his ear, scrutinizing the point- trying to tell if it was a fake tip made of some kind of wax or the product of some childhood accident. Spock grabbed his wrist. "That is quite enough. Come by tomorrow at third rotation, and I will teach you how to defend yourself."

McCoy pulled back, letting go of the orange. "My apologies. If you will excuse me, Mr. Spock."

"Good afternoon, Doctor," Spock replied by way of dismissal.

McCoy left the room feeling quite bewildered and wondering what had come over him in there. He had always been a curious man, prying his professors and town physicians for all their secrets, as well as old wives, quacks, and Negro and native medicine men for whatever knowledge he could glean from them, but he had always had the sense before not to invade a man's privacy like that! His heart was pounding. He had thought it was some kind of great farce- some kind of attempt to sway McCoy to their side by telling him about Vulcans and Mitchell, but to think that it could be real…

He sagged against the wall beside Spock's quarters. He looked around at all the men and boys minding the ship: the Captain looking into the horizon, Chekov measuring speed and distance with his complicated tools, Sulu winding the ship through unseen currents of wind and water, and Scotty calling out, directing every lad in his tasks with the grace of an orchestral conductor, and above all the pounding of the boots and the rustle of the wind through the sails he could hear Uhura singing a song he didn't understand the words of.

Maybe they were all runaway slaves and lovesick fools, if Christine's definitions could be believed. He sighed and went back to handing out his oranges to the men on deck.


	12. The Apple

Chapter 12: The Apple

Disclaimer, rating, and pairings as before.

* * *

As the day waxed on Bones had little time alone for his ponderings. Most of the lads were feeling better and kept needling him for introductions and mindless conversation. He could hardly hand a man an orange without getting inundated with his entire life story, often exaggerated beyond even what Kirk had told him. Sailors, it seemed, loved to tell stories. However, even though what Kirk had told him thus far had seemed true, McCoy didn't believe most of what the boys told him. He had finally slipped away from a young man named Garrovick who told him about a wicked cloud that had literally sucked the life out of his father, a former navy captain, and now McCoy was leaning against a deck rail on the quarterdeck, enjoying the momentary solitude.

He had an orange in his hand, lumpy and yellow on one half instead of the smooth, rich color of the rest of the flesh. He dug his sticky fingers into the rind and peeled it away, getting drops of the sharp-sweet juice on his hands. Some of the sweet nectar rolled over his palms and fell into the wake of the ship. As McCoy lifted his right hand to lick it up, the ship lurched to a stop. McCoy felt the deck rail collide into his gut, winding him. He staggered back, dropping the orange into the ocean. He could hear the lads on deck gasping, staggering or tripping over the lines. The masts were groaning and straining against the wind.

"Damnit," He coughed. The men around him had frozen, their faces pale. He looked over his shoulder at the captain.

"Bring in the sails before they tear the masts off!" Kirk bellowed.

"Alright lads, draw 'em in!" Scotty barked, clapping his hands. The lads rushed to their duties. Spock, Sulu and Chekov were clustered around the helm. Sulu was trying to turn the wheel, apparently trying to disengage the ship from something beneath them, but even though the wheel spun freely, the ship didn't alter so much as a degree.

"What's going on?" McCoy asked.

"Spock," Kirk barked, "is it customary for-" A loud whining interrupted the captain. Just beside McCoy a red haze that smelled like overheated water from a teakettle. McCoy staggered back.

"What the hell?" The physician spluttered, knocking his back against the deck rail and hissing.

Once the haze cleared six people- four men and two women, all with short, elegantly pointed ears- stood on the deck. They were dressed in elegant robes in rich purples, bedecked in huge precious stones and plates of silver. They stood like statues, perfectly calm and perfectly straight.

"Captain Kirk," the older looking male said calmly. Despite not speaking very loudly, most of the crew shivered at his voice.

"Ambassador!" Kirk replied jovially. "Welcome aboard, once again. It's always a pleasure to see you."

The ambassador did not look amused. He narrowed his eyes and held up the half-peeled orange. "Is this a human attempt at humor?"

Kirk blinked, but his smile didn't waver. "Humor?"

"I told you once that if you ever dared to sail through our waters without giving us tribute again-"

"Ambassador, you must understand, we haven't had a chance to gather any tribute-"

"And so when you come back into our waters, all you offer us is a half-eaten piece of fruit?" Sarek's question was neither accusative nor irritable, but the tone still managed to affect Kirk's unwavering calm. "It is unacceptable."

Kirk looked from the orange to Sarek's face and back. "You must understand, Ambassador," the captain took a hesitant step toward the elderly Vulcan, "until recently, my whole crew was ravaged by scurvy. We couldn't conduct any raids; we couldn't engage in any trade; hell, we couldn't even buy any food! We were stranded off the coast of Charleston, sailing in circles because the Admiralty got wind of our location. We barely had money for food after we looted a gentleman's house, and by that time most of my men couldn't even stand."

"And yet after you stopped at a small island off what the British maps have labeled 'Georgia' you made haste to Havanna, cutting through our waters without so much as a farthing tossed over the rails."

"The winds were favorable, and I didn't have time to explain to you why we could spare so little!" Kirk took off his hat and twisted its brim in his hand. "You know how lately the winds have been against me."

Sarek's expression hardened. "The winds and the currents, Captain. If your Admiralty has also caught on to you, you are quite the unfortunate soul."

"Is it your doing, Ambassador?" Spock asked.

"Sarek does not dictate the vinds or the votters. Even so limited a space as the circumference of your ship can only be controlled by the power of many Wolcans. Thee know this, Spockh; do not pretend othervise," an ancient looking crone wearing mostly black droned.

Spock raised his eyebrow. "I meant 'you' in the plural, Lady T'Pau. Is the ill favor granted by the currents a result of the Council's displeasure?"

"Thy captain has been quite generous to us of late, Spockh, aside from this recent incident. Ve bear him no ill vill. Even so, our power is limited to our own votters, and not the vinds. The troubles this ship faces come from ill fortune or some greater power."

"Like Lieutenant Mitchell?" McCoy inquired. Sarek and the woman T'Pau looked at McCoy.

"No human could bend the water to his will, old man, and what's more I had been informed that Lieutenant Mitchell was dead," Sarek replied.

"We have reason to believe he is not," Kirk stated. "One of our lads was nearly drowned in an above-ground cell by having bilge water magically appear in his lungs. Gary was the one who cast the strange spell upon him."

"That isn't possible!" One of the younger Vulcan men, a surly, stocky man gasped. His eyes flickered for an instant at the young Vulcan woman, a creature as elegant and cold as a snowflake, but then he pushed his way through two Vulcan men to the ambassador's side. "If the human has that kind of power, he only could have obtained it from Marin-"

"Kroykah, Stonn! Remember thy place," T'Pau ordered. The two men, who McCoy supposed were merely Sarek's attendants, placed their hands upon the other man's thick arms.

"The sea goddess, Marina?" Kirk asked. "You think the Lady of the Deep has somehow brought Gary back from the dead?"

"Marina has never given any sailor or ship any ill will. She would not conspire against you, Kirk." Despite his words, Sarek did not look completely certain. "Thus we return to the matter of your tribute."

"If you want tribute, you've got the best we have there in your hands, Mr. Ambassador," McCoy stated. "That fruit's what cured these boys of their scurvy. We have a few more crates. If you need more-" The harsh glare from Sarek's attendants caused McCoy's words to catch in his throat.

"I do not know this man, Kirk. I have seen all of your crew before, but not him."

"Sarek, there is not time for this," T'Pau warned.

Sarek looked at the ancient woman. No words were exchanged, but moments later Sarek looked back at McCoy. "You claim that these simple fruits healed all of your crewmates?"

"They're standing, aren't they?" McCoy retorted.

Sarek's eyes seemed to pierce through McCoy. McCoy figured that must be where Spock picked up the talent. "You were the gentlemen from whom this crew got the funds for food."

McCoy tilted his chin up stubbornly.

"As such," Sarek looked back at the orange in his hand, "this tribute really is from the raid this ship made on your property."

"I suppose that's one way of putting it."

"And not only that, but there is the added benefit of its curative properties?"

"Again, if you want to look at it like that…" McCoy was growing more confused with every second.

Sarek looked at Kirk. "Your stop in Georgia was perhaps your most profitable one in over a year, then, Captain. I commend you. This tribute, then, will suffice. For now."

Kirk felt his shoulders slump. "I'm glad we've made a… suitable arrangement, Ambassador."

"Indeed," T'Pau agreed. "And now ve come to the matter vhich brinks me here. Spockh, thee vill return vith us."

Even Spock seemed to need to do a double take at that remark. "Lady T'Pau?"

"I had come to remind you of your duty to the clan, but now there are… more urgent reasons for you to return. Your time vill come soon; barely another vinter season vill stir the heat in your veins. You are promised to T'Pring."

Spock looked at the elegant woman behind T'Pau. The girl was bedecked in a long sheath of purple and dripping in small, well cut stones, her long hair tied in a severe knot behind her neck. She was one of the loveliest women Leonard had ever seen. "A promise I never made and do not intend to keep."

"The old vays are inviolate! You have a duty, Spockh!"

"You knew my position on the matter before I left, T'Pau." Spock placed his hands behind his back. "It has not changed."

"Spock," T'Pring spoke as though she only knew his name from a tedious book or a well memorized but greatly disliked play, "our matriarch has insisted. It is not our place to contest her will."

"You may not contest her will openly, bond-mate, but your own resistance is no secret." T'Pring didn't even look scandalized at Spock's words, she just tilted her chin and looked down her nose at him.

T'Pau pursed her lips. Then softly she stated, "Such behavior is befitting only of a human, Spockh. If thee are so adamant to remain away from home, then thee are hence cursed to remain vith them. Never again may thee enter the votter, lest you be brought back by the ancient drives to our realm, with no ability to return to the surface vorld. You are a child of the dry air or you are a child of the votter. You are no longer both." She did not sound angry, but there was a hint of something- betrayal perhaps- behind her eyes, in her tone.

Just as Sarek turned to speak to the ancient woman, a red haze enveloped the Vulcans and they disappeared with a loud whine.

Silence smothered the bridge. Every man on deck was staring at Spock, many with mouths agape. The deck lurched slightly and a boy by the deck called out, "We're moving!"

"Drop sail," Kirk ordered quietly, Scotty bellowing his order like a perverse echo.

Kirk and McCoy walked over to Spock. The Vulcan's face betrayed no change in emotion. "I'm confused," McCoy whispered. "What just happened?"

"It seems Sarek let us off with another warning," Kirk replied. "Very uncharacteristic of the Ambassador."

"That isn't what I-"

"If T'Pau believes her duty is to bring me back so urgently," Spock interrupted, "the possibility that Marina may have given Lieutenant Mitchell his life again, as well as even a fraction of her power is more real than we had believed. I do not understand why, however, a great goddess would see fit to bestow such power upon a mortal man."

"'Why' isn't important, Spock," Kirk hissed.

"Well, what in hell are you going to do about it, Jim?" McCoy replied, his voice much less quiet. "You can't just keep sailing around if you've got a bitter former friend conspiring with heathen goddesses against you."

Kirk and Spock both stared at McCoy. "The doctor, surprisingly, makes a valid point, Captain. If we remain on open water, we are in danger."

"Open water, maybe, but not Vulcan water, right?"

"It is unlikely that Mitchell would be so brazen as to try and exert his power directly in Vulcan waters, yes."

"Then we continue, for now, as we were. If we try and make port now, we'll only cause a panic. Besides, rumor has it that Commodore Decker's out looking for us since Commodore Mendez couldn't catch us in the Americas."

"Is Mendez a Spaniard?" McCoy asked.

"Not that it is relevant to our situation, Doctor, but no. I knew him back before." Kirk put his hat back on. "And I also know Decker. Neither man has much stomach for betrayal, and Decker's legendary for his tracking skills. We're safest on Vulcan waters for the time being."

"And just what will we do out here on Vulcan waters, hmm? Roast under the Carribean sun until our supplies run out?"

"Mr. Spock, has Mr. Chekov plotted the likely courses of incoming trading vessels?"

"Yes, sir. The closest is the Spanish ship _Rosa_. We can intercept her by morning, if conditions continue to favor us."

"And is the _Rosa_ protected?" Kirk asked, a wicked grin pulling at his lips.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "By the Vulcans, sir? Of course not; Vulcans don't exist."

The captain smiled. "Very good, Mr. Spock. Mr. Chekov," he barked, "set intercept course for the _Rosa_, full sail."

"You can't just attack those innocent people!" McCoy snapped, grabbing Kirk's arm.

"How is it, Bones, that you can believe in a sea goddess bringing a man back from the dead and giving him unholy powers, but you can't believe that pirates will do what pirates have done for a millennium? Get back below deck," He pulled his arm away, a brief flicker of guilt clouding his hazel eyes. "You'll find no one who shares your beliefs up here."

McCoy stared agape as Kirk walked down to the weather deck to give his new orders to Scotty.


	13. The Savage Curtain

Chapter 13: The Savage Curtain

Disclaimer, ratings, and pairings as before.

Author's Note: Hey, guys, I know it's been a while. I had to pick up another job and lots of family stuff has been going on... Basically life got in the way. Things are settling down, and I'm back. Sorry about the delay. While I have your attention: Feel free to let me know if I have mistranslated the two Spanish lines in the chapter. If I have, please let me know the correct translations. Thanks!

* * *

That night was very still. The ship sailed so smoothly that it seemed not even to rock against the waves. Every step on deck seemed quieter, more distant than it had ever before. Leonard had been bottled up below decks all afternoon tending to the occasional soul whose scurvy still pained him and nursing poor Rand and the few others whom the disease had left nearly dead in its wake. Not willing to face Kirk or Spock, he chose not to join the crew for mess in the galley, claiming to whoever asked that he'd gotten his fill from the oranges.

His hammock didn't even squeak on its hooks that night. In all the quiet, Leonard had hoped he'd be able to sleep. He wasn't so lucky. He couldn't stomach the thought of sitting back and letting all those sailors die. Every time he closed his eyes he saw blood and smelled gunpowder and death. He considered getting his half-empty bottle of rum out of the cabinet to wash away the thoughts, but a part of him _wanted_ to dwell on the thoughts. The pirates slept too easily with no doubt thousands of men's blood on their hands. Leonard refused to be like them.

It was late into the evening when Scotty lurked in. He heard cloth shuffling as the Scotsman undressed and tied up his hammock.

"Scotty?" Leonard asked quietly.

He heard Scotty startle. "Scared me there, Len. I thought ye were asleep."

"I can't sleep."

Scotty swung his legs up into his hammock, the hooks protesting against the weight. "I've been told that ye're to stay below during the raid tomorrow until someone comes down to get ye."

"And just who told you that?"

"Cap'n's orders, lad. There'll be cannon fire most of the mornin' and ye'll be safest below decks. Besides, you'll be keepin' an eye on the women folk and the sick lads."

McCoy crossed his arms, the wool of his hammock hissing as he moved. "When you go on duty, you tell the captain that Nurse Chapel and I will be coming on deck the minute the battle is over to tend to the wounded, both on our ship and the _Rosa_."

Scotty didn't say anything at first, then after a long moment he sighed. "Ye're daft, lad."

"I've made up my mind. I won't stand idly by while innocent men are slaughtered."

"Aye. Cap'n Kirk's well aware o' yer moral center. Dr. Piper had the same stipulation while he was aboard." The Scotsman paused and furrowed his brow, "Are all doctors like that?" He asked.

"Only the good ones," Leonard joked halfheartedly.

Scotty laughed. "Get some rest, lad. Not even the purest moral center'll help if ye canna see the lads on the deck 'casue ye're so exhausted. I'll tell the cap'n what ye told me."

Leonard felt like a weight had been pulled off his chest. "Thank you, Scotty. Sleep well."

"Aye. G'night."

Leonard woke up the next morning to the sound of very loud feet tromping above him. He dressed hastily, noting briefly that Scotty had already gone above. As he pulled on his waistcoat and stepped into the hall a man he recognized as Mr. Stiles brushed past him.

"Has the _Rosa_ been spotted?" McCoy asked.

"Yes, sir. I suggest you grab your sword and get to Sickbay. Once there, keep low."

McCoy opened his mouth to reply but Stiles was already leaving, a pistol in one hand and an axe in the other. The physician shuddered.

Christine had already helped the patients out of their hammocks and onto the floor. Rand was looking much healthier and despite being somewhat ashen, the tall Negro was sitting upright and talking quietly with Uhura in Dutch. A few other lads were fidgeting and looking up at McCoy like they expected him to tell them to do something. His only guess was that they wanted to be on deck helping their crewmates, but still being too ill to help, they were trapped down here.

Trapped. He understood that very well.

The first clue that the fighting had started was a blast and a loud whistle. Once he heard wood explode against a six pound shot, battle had begun. Leonard could not tell exactly what happened. Sickbay had no windows and he could not hear anything but pounding feet, cries of pain, gunshots and screaming cannon fire. The ship rocked dangerously with every blast and almost every explosion, earning gasps from them all and even the occasional sob from the women. No tears were shed, but he could see concern all over their faces in the dim and shaking light of the kerosene lamps on the walls. Then, almost too soon, the noises stopped.

"What's going on up there?" McCoy breathed, gripping the hilt of his sword.

"Either we've won or we're dead men," a lad named Mr. Kyle commented.

As they waited, footsteps slowly thumped out in the hallway. McCoy felt his hand ache, he held his sword so tightly. The door to Sickbay swung open and Leonard drew his sword.

Spock stood in the doorway, unimpressed by McCoy's sword. "You are required on deck."

McCoy raised an eyebrow.

"Put the sword away, Doctor, and gather your bandages and your knives," Spock added as he left.

McCoy blinked, and then turned to the others. "I guess y'all can stay here if you want. Miss Chapel, if you could join me," he grabbed a box he'd already set up as a field med-kit and heaved it down the corridor to the weather deck. Christine gathered her skirts and stood, following hastily behind him.

The thick smell of smoke was the first thing to greet McCoy when he stepped on deck, quite unlike the usual sharpness of salt air. It hung even where there wasn't a haze of grey or white. A few men were by the main mast clutching wounds and breathing shallow breaths to try and ward off the pain. Other men leaned against the port side deckrail aiming rifles and cannons at the men on the other ship. Most of the crew, however, seemed to be on the other ship with Captain Kirk. He had no idea where Spock went, and he didn't much care to find out.

McCoy made quick work of the slash wounds and minor lacerations, but two men had taken bullets- one of whom had been shot in the stomach. He tried to calm him down to try and see the wound, but the bleeding was too much and the man was too scared to let go. Blood was seeping between his lips and he was dangerously pale. Leonard had been a surgeon for nearly twenty-five years; he knew that a man with a bullet in his gut was a dead man. He ordered one of the lads to keep him company until he passed. The other man had the bullet in his shoulder. The bone had stopped the bullet and all Leonard needed to do to treat him was give him a belt to bite into while he dug the shot out. The man screamed through the leather and had to be held down by two other men, but the bullet came out intact. He probably wouldn't be able to use the arm for months due to the damage to the bone, but he'd live- if infection didn't claim him. He had Christine clean and dress the wound and he walked over to the gangplank, trying to ignore the dying man's screams of pain.

He could see most of the Spanish crew had been disarmed and was standing surrounded by members of the Enterprise's crew. Their captain, a shriveled old man who looked too stubborn to be caught standing all the way upright, was glaring angrily at the pistol Captain Kirk was aiming at his head. Dead and wounded Spaniards lay haplessly on the deck, baking in the sun.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain?" McCoy asked mockingly. Kirk smirked at him.

"Granted, Bones. It seems your services are needed here."

Every time Leonard looked at one of the _Rosa_'s crewmen, he could see the face of the young man Sulu had killed back in Cuba. Still, the physician walked from man to man, assessing and treating wounds as quickly and thoroughly as he could, always with Sulu's shadow looming over him. Periodically, McCoy would glare at the pirate for getting in the way of the sunlight.

"Just making sure no one decides to try and use you as a hostage - or worse," he would say in response. It didn't make McCoy feel any better.

McCoy had inspected all the men by the time the sun hung just over the horizon. "I'm done here," he told Kirk as he wiped his hands off on an old rag. The Spanish captain raised an eyebrow at Kirk, still in a defensive position before Kirk's pistol. _"__¿__Por qu__é__? __¿Por qué usted hizo esto? ¿Por qué usted ayudó a mis __tripulantes__?_" He was genuinely confused. McCoy figured that he also did not know why anyone would help the crew of a ship they had just raided.

Kirk smiled at the captain knowingly. "_No hablo español, Capitán. Buenas noches._" He nodded at McCoy to tell him to cross the gangplank. Following after the physician, Kirk tipped his hat to the Spaniard and sheathed his sword. "Ready the mainsail! Draw in the planks!" He barked. McCoy sighed, more than a little tired. "You had a long day there, Bones."

"I'd work into next week to save lives," McCoy said, looking out of the corner of his eye at Kirk, "any life. No matter the cost."

"I know," Kirk replied with a shade of a smile. He narrowed his eyes at a cluster of men who were trying to peer into the cargo-stores. "I told you gentlemen to make ready the sail! The next man I see gawking at the haul will be catching bilge rats for his supper!" The men at the fringes scattered. The others seemed to be making sure the cargo made it below decks intact. Spock and Scotty were shouting orders and gesturing to men above and below to make sure everything got put in its proper place. "Mr. Spock!" Kirk called. Spock nodded at Scotty and strode over, looking as stoic as ever.

"Aye, Captain?"

Kirk stood at military rest, earning a scoff from McCoy. "That was good haul, Mr. Spock. Excellent suggestion."

"Based on Mr. Chekov's assessment of the winds and currents, it was a logical recommendation, Captain." McCoy looked between them, not sure why Kirk felt compelled to commend something McCoy was sure Spock did every time they set sail.

"I am well aware of that Spock. Just," he hesitated, "put that logical mind of yours to work and find us another haul."

"Aye, Captain," Spock stated, walking away.

"That's all you have to say to him?" McCoy muttered. Kirk glanced at McCoy. "It just seems a little cold. Far as I could tell, that was a smooth raid, all things considered. It could've gone a lot worse."

Kirk looked at McCoy for a moment. "It's his job to find good hauls like that."

McCoy nodded. "And it's my job to treat patients, yet you treat him like he's the captive one doing what he ought and me like the friend doing you a service."

Kirk looked upward and lifted the brim of his hat, surveying the horizon. For a long moment, he said nothing, simply taking in the feel of the winds and the rocking of the ship. It almost seemed like he was communing with the _Enterprise_. He stepped forward, and looked over at Spock, who had returned to the grate to the cargo hold. "Spock, a moment." Spock cocked his head to the side, perplexed, but walked over. "Lately, I have been short with you," Kirk said before Spock could ask what was going on.

Spock raised his eyebrow. "Short?"

"Lashing out," Kirk explained. "Verbally attacking you."

McCoy crossed his arms, surprised his words had affected Kirk in any way. Spock merely blinked. McCoy saw confusion in that blink. "I assumed it was due to the strain of being back in Vulcan waters after--" Spock trailed off, not wanting to rehash the issue.

"It was. However," Kirk hesitated, looking somewhat less confident than before, "I know that you aren't to blame... And whatever your people may have done, I know you are separate from them."

Spock glanced aside, not sure how to respond. "If you are referring to my rejection of T'Pring," he began cautiously.

Kirk shook his head. "You were a member of my crew before I knew you were a Vulcan. You served the crew well, and I was right to pick you as my first mate."

Spock looked up at Kirk, both eyebrows raised.

Kirk chuckled. "As you were, Mr. Spock," he said, turning to the quarterdeck. Spock looked contemplative for a moment, then with a nod to himself returned to his duties. McCoy shook his head and started toward the lower deck.

"Oh, Bones, by the way," Kirk called over suddenly. McCoy grunted, his exhaustion beginning to catch up with him. "I wanted to ask what you'd like out of the haul? Any preferences, I mean. Books, clothes, drink, weapons?"

"I beg your pardon?" McCoy said, shaking his head and looking over at Kirk.

"Well, I'm cutting you in for a share and a half and, of course, any medical stores we come upon, but I wanted to know if you wanted anything in particular in your share?"

"My share? What, of the raid?"

"It doesn't seem right asking you to do all that work for nothing. You've earned it."

McCoy narrowed his eyes and shook his head mutely.

"You don't have a preference, then?"

"I don't want any of it," McCoy snapped. "I won't take stolen goods."

"Well, you didn't take anything," Kirk said with a shrug, "You were below decks. Call it your pay, for treating the sick and wounded."

"I never asked for pay. I won't take a farthing of it."

Kirk frowned, but nodded. "Suit yourself. Sleep well, Bones."

McCoy bit his lip and tromped down to his cabin. Stringing up the hammock had become almost a reflex. Before he crawled onto the hammock, he shrugged out of his waistcoat and vest, kicked off his shoes and untied his cravat. With a sigh, he felt sleep take him.

* * *

Spanish Translations:

_Rosa -_ Rose

_¿Por qué? ¿Por qué usted hizo esto? ¿Por qué usted ayudó a mis tripulantes? -_ Why? Why did you do this? Why did you help my crew?

_No hablo español, Capitán. Buenas noches. _- I don't speak Spanish, Captain. Good evening.


End file.
